Apocalypse Now, Absolution Later
by Faye Dartmouth
Summary: Dean learns that while the apocalypse is not so awesome, his little brother really might just be.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Apocalypse Now (Absolution Later) 1/4

Author's Note: Because Sam is awesome! Written for the Summer of Sam Love on LJ . I worked very hard to incorporate all parts of the prompt, which turned out to make a rather long fic! Special thanks to sendintheclowns, who took the time to talk me through it, geminigrl11 , who still betas even when I'm insane**, smth_blue** for the AMAZING art (see my LJ for it! faye-dartmouth(dot)livejournal(dot)com), and mostly, spoilerwolf, who had such a fun prompt to work with. I hope this hits the spot! FYI, this is set post-S4 and is purely speculative.

Prompt: Included at the end to maintain some elements of surprise :)

Summary: Dean learns that while the apocalypse is not so awesome, his little brother really might just be.

Disclaimer: Not mine

-o-

The apocalypse sucked.

It was sort of a reductive thought, in the end. Of course the apocalypse sucked; it was the apocalypse, after all. No one expected it to be all rainbows and lollipops. But it didn't suck quite the way Dean had thought it might, with fire and brimstone and people dying and screaming and bloody rivers and all that. No, it was a more subtle thing. Demon infestations, a surge of mass murders, crop failures. Nothing too spectacular, no epic battles: it was like mankind was just having a bad year.

A _really _bad year, if they knew why people were going off the deep end. Lucifer was milling about freely, infiltrating even the quaintest little suburbs, and the increase of violence was _not _due to the recession.

But that wasn't really why the apocalypse sucked--for Dean, anyway. It sucked that he had to run interference, trail after small jobs, save people here and there as Castiel directed him. It was like being John Winchester's good little soldier all over again, only Castiel didn't screw around with coordinates on a telephone and opted to bop in and out at will, usually when Dean was trying to catch some z's or take a leak.

Castiel claimed it was the only time he could find Dean alone.

Dean was getting rather skeptical.

He also wasn't getting any better at predicting it.

So when he was kicking back in the Impala, watching Sam dutifully pay for a bag of Peanut M&M's and a bottle of Mountain Dew, Castiel still managed to scare the crap out of him by appearing in the passenger's seat.

It was nothing more than a rustle of air and a spark of light and that heavy sense of _responsibility_, but it still made him start. "Can't you use a phone?" he asked, barely allowing a scowling glance at the heavenly reject.

"We cannot trust those methods of communication," Castiel replied simply.

Dean looked back at Sam, carefully making sure the kid wasn't doing anything other than buying the snacks. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "You're afraid your superiors will find you."

"Or you," Castiel said. "You are still important to Zachariah, Dean."

"The great warrior of God, I got it," Dean said with a grimace. "So why is it that I'm spending my time with these small jobs?"

"Lucifer is still well hidden," Castiel replied. "He has his minions doing his work for him and they mask his presence well. We must keep the damage to a minimum until the time comes."

"Yeah, and you still haven't told me how that's going to happen, yet," Dean said, drawing his eyebrows together. The need-to-know stuff had been hard enough to swallow under John Winchester's rule. Castiel may have had the weight of the apocalypse to coerce Dean into cooperating, but that didn't make him like it anymore. After thirty years and finally shaking off his father's dominating presence, he wasn't so thrilled about trading in one obedience for another. And that didn't even begin to bring up the task of taking care of his pain-in-the-ass little brother.

As if he read Dean's mind, Sam came out the door of the gas station then, head down. When he looked up, he made brief eye contact with Dean before looking in the passenger's seat. His face tightened for a moment before he ducked his head again, turning back toward the gas station. Sam walked toward the pay phone, settling himself against the wall, squinting off toward the highway.

"I still think we can let Sam in on these little planning sessions," Dean said, looking back at the angel.

Castiel's expression didn't change. He didn't even look at Sam, but instead fixed Dean with a cold stare. The angel had chosen his side, and defied his superiors in doing so. But, in the process, Castiel's soft side had gotten considerably less soft. His compassion for the human race was inherent in every move he made, but the angel had shown no desire in getting bogged down in the apparent trivialities of overall human interaction--especially where Sam was concerned.

Dean didn't necessary like it, but he understood it to some degree. He knew what the battle between good and evil could do to a person. After all, the weight of being on the run, of saving the world--it was heavy stuff, and Dean had found it hard to know quite what to do with Sam himself. He didn't have the luxury of keeping the kid at arm's distance, but part of him couldn't blame Castiel, even if it did make things more complicated. Sam could have had all the good intentions in the world, and Dean was willing to still call him brother, but that didn't make his deeds any less monstrous. Cosmically speaking, Dean couldn't be so sure as to the state of Sam's soul at this point, and so much of the work he and Castiel was doing boiled down to making up for Sam's bad choices last year. So Dean couldn't push his luck too far on his brother's behalf, assuming he even wanted to at this point.

He just wanted to keep Sam safe and keep Sam on track. There wasn't time for the emotional fallout, there wasn't time for the questions--so if this was how Castiel wanted to do it, Dean didn't have it in him to push back on this one.

For his part, Sam didn't make it any harder. After walking in on Dean and Castiel a handful of times and finding the angel unwilling to talk in his presence, Sam had taken the hint and avoided the two of them altogether. Sam didn't object, but that wasn't saying much. Sam didn't object to much of anything these days. In fact, Sam didn't say or do much at all. He followed orders, performed duties, and otherwise shut up and kept out of the way. It was the kind of obedience Dean had wanted Sam to have all his life, and it did make things easier. But it still felt sort of...wrong.

"I have told you before," Castiel said. "Your brother has been compromised. Though he may fight on our side, I cannot risk trusting him. His desire for good may be strong, but his inherent evil is powerful as well."

"He's off the blood," Dean said, because Dean and Bobby had made sure of that. Not that they'd had to fight Sam on it, since Sam had suffered through detox without so much as a word of complaint or accusation. Dean had helped him into the panic room when they reached South Dakota, but one look at Sam's miserable, pain-stricken face, and Dean hadn't had the heart to lock him in there alone.

"It still runs through his veins," Castiel countered. "And we are wasting time."

Dean sighed, relinquishing the argument. There were bigger issues, more important things. "What do you have for me now?"

"There is a legion of demons, holed up in the back country of Wyoming not far from what you call Yellowstone National Park."

"And what's their master plan?"

"We are not sure. The scout we sent was only able to ascertain their number."

Dean made a face. "You know it's tricky to get rid of them in groups," he said.

Castiel was unruffled. "The majority of them lesser demons, mostly devoid of sentient thought. Their purpose is only to follow orders. Their current state is unthreatening, but their end goal is not.

Dean drew his lips together. His father had at least humored him ill-placed sense of humor. It kept things from sucking quite like they did now. "You said the majority of them," Dean said. "What about the others."

"Just one," Castiel said. "Possessing a park ranger. It seems to be mobilizing the rest. We fear they plan to disrupt the ecosystem."

"I do this to save lives, Smokey. Not nature. Go find Greenpeace to help you on this one."

"Disrupting the balance of this region of the earth could have devastating effects," Castiel warned him. "Possibly resulting in the equivalent of a nuclear explosion. It would destroy most of the western part of this continent and negatively impact the air conditions worldwide."

The explanation was solid and to the point and exactly what Dean had needed and asked for. Which is perhaps why it sucked even more. Dean asked how bad it was in part because he hoped it really wasn't as bad as he thought it was.

He never could catch a break. Savior of the freakin' world, and he was still just following one miserable order after the next. "So you want me to go and take her out, right?"

Castiel nodded. "We feel this threat justifies a prompt and swift response."

"But you guys can't handle it yourself," Dean said with a sarcastic grin. "Funny how that works."

"Dean, you know our numbers are few. Many of the angels have sided with Zachariah in a bid to conquer the demons on our own playing field. Those legions have largely been decimated. The few who have joined with us are needed in reconnaissance and for the endgame. I was unprepared to do the right thing once, and it cost humanity gravely. It is not a mistake I will make again."

And it wasn't a mistake that Dean could make either. A year of uncertainty, of trying to play to the middle and keep himself clear from the coming war had ended in disaster. It was time to do the right thing, no matter how much it sucked. "It's a day's drive from here," Dean told him. "We'll take care of it."

With that, Castiel was gone, and Dean found himself alone.

-o-

Alone wasn't quite the right term for it, though sometimes it still felt that way, and, other times, Dean wished it _was_ that way.

Sam was a renewed constant presence in his life, always _there_, but something was missing from his little brother. Sam was quiet now, almost a void, and despite his physical presence, it often seemed to Dean that the kid was locked down deep within himself.

Which, most of the time was okay, because when Dean let himself think about what had happened, he almost didn't want Sam there at all.

After all, this was the kid who had _lied _to him. For an entire _year_. From the moment Dean got out of the grave, the lies had started, one wallop after another. Not that Dean didn't understand lying from time to time, but about Dean's dying wish? About the powers? About _Ruby_?

And that didn't even begin to cover how repulsed Dean felt every time he thought about Sam downing demon blood. After what demons had done to _all _of them, Sam went and tried to turn himself into one. He may have even been successful for all Dean knew.

None of that was to overlook the fact that the kid had tried to kill him. Wrapped his hands around his neck and squeezed just to show that he could.

_But who's weak now_, Dean had to think, and it took all his self control not to say it to Sam's face. Because the moron deserved it. For his selfishness and pride, the world was ending, and it was up to Dean to clean up the mess.

So, sometimes it was hard to remembered that he'd said he'd take his brother back, no matter what. The bonds of brotherhood were for better or for worse, and this was definitely the worst. This was what family did, though. And every time Dean thought to doubt it, he could hear Bobby telling him to suck it, Princess.

Easy for him to say. Bobby didn't have to live with a quasi-human, reformed blood addict who didn't seem to actually want to do anything at all. Dean supposed he should be grateful for that. After the years of Sam bucking orders just for the hell of it, this certainly was easier, but it was tiring to remind the kid to _eat_.

The first days had been hard--harder than just about anything else. The weight of failure was nearly more than he could stand, and Sam was no help whatsoever. His brother had been a mess; after crying himself to sleep the first night, he'd awaken stony and silent, not even speaking when the pangs of withdrawal started up in earnest.

Sam had even tried to kill himself once on the way back to Bobby's, disappearing behind the back of a gas station while Dean was making a pit stop. Dean found the kid with the pistol in his mouth, but his hands had been shaking too hard to pull the trigger.

Dean had reamed him out, both terrified and angry, and Sam had slunk back to the Impala and sat in the passenger's seat with his shoulders stooped the rest of the way. Simple orders did the trick in making the kid eat and sleep and shower, and when Dean asked questions, Sam answered, with so much painful honesty that Dean couldn't doubt that it was full disclosure. After all, admitting to allowing murder and draining an innocent girl dry was more than Dean had expected, even from Sam, and yet Sam had told him everything, staring straight ahead and without intonation.

It made things easier, to say the least, and with hellfire breathing down his back and heaven pulling him forward, easy was really the way to go.

And yet--it felt wrong. Not that anything really felt right, but watching Sam obey so simply, watching Sam cater to Dean's every whim--it carried the surreal sense of a bad dream come true. They were united again, better than ever, and there were no lies and no secrets. No demon blood and no questionable allegiances. Sam went with him to bars and drank whiskey with him. Sam listened to his music and let him sing along as loud as he wanted. Sam didn't ask _why_, he didn't complain, he didn't even try to defend himself.

It was contrition in the truest sense of the word, so much so that Dean hadn't really had the heart to tell the kid _I told you so_. At least, not as often as Sam deserved it.

Yet, it didn't make it Dean feel better. It didn't make him feel any less alone. The only improvement over the past year was that now, Dean didn't have to worry about Sam lying to him. All things considered, with Lucifer risen and all, it didn't seem like much of a tradeoff. He still didn't have his brother back, though, which was all he had wanted when he made the deal to begin with. If anything, Sam was further from him than ever before.

Which just made it all so much more tiring. All the hunts, all of Castiel's missions, all the long hours in the car--there was nothing to fill them with, nothing to make them worthwhile. Every injury hurt worse and every mile seemed longer, and Dean felt older than he ever had before.

With a sigh, he shifted in his seat. Even the Impala, once his pride and joy, seemed irrelevant these days. She had seem him through everything, but she didn't sing to him like she used to. She was nothing more than metal and leather now, a tool to get from point A to point B. The idea of his father's legacy, of the place he called home--well, it couldn't mean anything when Dean didn't want the legacy his father left and he really didn't want to return to anything resembling what he'd believed was home. His father had used him. His family had betrayed him. And the Impala was just a car.

Glancing over, he let his eyes settle on Sam. His brother was still in the seat, his long legs jammed beneath the dashboard. The kid had a vacant look on his face, the same one Sam wore all the time now.

Dean thought maybe some conversation would make the time go faster, but he couldn't think of much to say. He'd already told Sam the basics. There was no need to go into the details. At this point, he was pretty sure Sam could be trusted with the details, no matter what Castiel thought. Yet, Dean didn't see the point. His brother didn't seem to want to know any more than Castiel wanted to tell him.

And Dean was too tired to fight either of them. Saving the world was a full time job, and a thankless one at that. After a lifetime in his father's army, forty years in Hell, and surviving the year of his brother's fall, Dean was ready for a break and the apocalypse really wasn't what he had in mind. So, now it was just do or die, get it done, once and for all.

Then, he could rest.

Then, maybe, sometime after he'd enjoyed his forty virgins, he could think about making the rest of his life make sense.

Not tonight, though. It was another night before a battle, another night of preparation. There used to be a thrill with that, but that seemed as fleeting as his partnership with Sam.

Fingers tensing for a moment on the wheel, Dean wished he could remember how it used to be. This new Sam made things easier, and so much more lonely. There was so much to say between them, but neither of them seemed to know how to start the conversation.

So Dean asked the simple questions instead. Gave orders, made commands. It was safer that way.

Glancing back at Sam again, he sighed. "You tired?" he asked.

His brother was poised in the seat, shoulders slumped but head upright. He was staring out at the dark road ahead, almost unblinkingly. "I'm fine," he said, not even looking at Dean.

Dean scoffed a little. "Yeah, sure," he said. "We'll pull off at the next town."

If Sam had an objection, he didn't voice it. Dean pushed his foot to the pedal a little harder, and drove deeper into the night.

-o-

The next town showed up about fifteen miles later. It was a small town, without much to its name. At first, Dean was worried they wouldn't even have a motel, but as drove out of town, he saw the run-down inn on the side of highway.

Small and dirty, with a flickering neon sign. All in all, it was perfect. Part of their nightly routine.

Everything was routine now. Pulling into the hotel, leaving Sam in the parked car, clearly within viewing distance from the main office. Then unloading their gear and setting up shop for the night; Sam in the far bed, Dean by the door. Sam took first shower by Dean's request, and stayed up on the laptop doing the latest research. Dean would finish his shower and pop a beer as he settled on the bed, while Sam would debrief him on the latest.

It wasn't perfect, but it was efficient, and it made sure that Sam was staying clean. The kid had OCD tendencies even under normal circumstances, so setting up a simple life could only help Sam stay on track. Besides, it made it easier for Dean to keep track of everything. Between Sam and the apocalypse, that kind of order was sort of a necessary evil, which seemed to be a common theme of his life these days.

They piled out, and set up wordlessly. There wasn't much to unpack, but they took the usual on-hand arsenal and their duffels in order to make it through the night. Their protection measures were more extreme than they used to be--salt lines were standard and a consecrating ritual or two never hurt matters. Dean was on the demons' list of most wanted, so attacks weren't out of the question.

Sam laid the salt lines, straight and precise, while Dean blessed the room with holy water and a prayer Pastor Jim had taught them years ago. When they were done, Sam settled in front of the computer and Dean laid back, remote in hand. He turned on the TV and started flipping, but he couldn't help but steal a glance or two at his brother.

Sam had always been focused--Dean could see now that his father's obsessive traits were strong in his kid brother. But this wasn't the same. There wasn't the same passion and vigor in it. Avenging Jessica, saving Dean, going after Lilith--those were things Sam had _needed_ like he needed air. While Dean wouldn't necessarily say they had made Sam happy, they had been true obsessions, things that carried inherent weight with Sam for better or for worse.

The steady research now had all the same precise execution without any of the heart. To Dean, it was suddenly unnerving how stark the difference was. Not that he'd liked Sam during all those times, but it had still been quintessential _Sam_.

This was like living with a stranger. Worse, a stranger devoid of interest and personality. Basically, it was like living with an emotional _nothing_, and for a second, Dean craved the way it used to be.

Back when they joked around, when they were comfortable with one another. When Dean would sneak porn on the laptop and Sam would scowl through Dean's taste in music. Back when Dean was a jerk and Sam was a bitch and all was right with the world.

Dean knew when they lost it. Dean also knew why. Until he could trust Sam again, until Sam had atoned--then it could never go back. Even then, Dean wasn't sure.

Still, this life was so much emptier than it was before. The moments of refuge weren't refreshing like they used to be. But every time Dean wanted to make it better, every time he wanted to extend the olive branch, he remembered his brother's hands around his throat, and he couldn't find the words.

Keep to the plan. That was what Dean had to do. Keep to the plan. Deal with the details--deal with _Sam_--later.

That didn't mean they had to live in silence, though.

Clearing his throat, Dean let his eyes linger on Sam. "How's it going?" he asked.

Sam didn't look up. "I'm just checking into a few more reports about the area," he said. "Seeing what the locals are reporting."

"Sounds good," Dean said. A moment lapsed. "You think we'll have any problems?"

"The area is remote," Sam said. "It doesn't get much use, anyway. The rangers have told hikers to stay out due to the damage."

"Good," Dean said with a nod. "You sound like you have a feel for it."

"I still have some more work to do," Sam said.

"Yeah, well, you can finish up in the morning," Dean said.

At that, Sam looked up. "You want to go to bed?"

Dean was surprised. "Oh. I mean. I just meant we have time. And you look exhausted, man."

Which was true. Sam _did _look exhausted. If Dean was honest, he had to admit that Sam always looked exhausted. Worn and weary, far beyond his twenty-seven years.

"I can keep going if you want me to," Sam said. "I'm fine."

"Dude, really," Dean said. "There'll be time in the morning."

"I just want to make sure we're ready."

"We're ready," Dean said. "Trust me."

"I do," Sam said, with an intensity that took Dean back. "I didn't mean to question that."

There was something in that, something that made Dean pause. Sam did trust him, completely. Every request was abided by. Because Dean had been _right_. Dean had been right about _everything_, and they both knew it.

Dean just wished he could believe Sam that same way.

"Get some sleep," Dean said. He hesitated, just for a second, smiling a little. There was distance and there was penance, and then there was making things easier--for both of them. "Bitch."

Sam's brow creased and something flickered in his eyes. He ducked his head, nodded. "Yeah, sure," he said. "I'll just power down."

The moment of grace passed, offered and not taken.

Disappointed, Dean watched as Sam closed out of his browser, shutting down the laptop. Placing it neatly on the table, Sam efficiently pulled back his covers. Adjusting himself in the bed, Sam paused, looking at Dean. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the moment passed, and Sam rolled on his side away from Dean and settled into silence.

Sighing, Dean looked at the ceiling and tried to convince himself that it was better this way.

-o-

Dean flipped channels for another hour, the sound on low. When he was sure Sam was asleep, he eased off his bed, giving Sam one last peak before carefully opening the door.

Stepping into the cool night air, he let the door close quietly behind him. With a breath, he looked up at the moon, digging his phone out of his pocket. The role reversal was not lost on him--the way Sam had spent a year sneaking out and lying, and now Dean was doing the same. But there were some key differences. While Sam had been out with Ruby, drinking blood and turning himself into a demon, Dean was trying to save the world. Save the world from Sam's mess, more precisely.

Besides, he wasn't going far. He just needed to make a phone call.

Holding his phone to his ear, he listened to the ringing, glancing around him as he waited.

"You better have a damn good reason for getting me out of bed," the voice groused on the other end of the phone.

Dean grinned. "Hey, Bobby."

"Dean?"

"The one and only."

"Well, Your Amazing Highness, maybe you should be getting your precious beauty sleep instead of bothering me."

"Aw, you know you're glad to hear from me."

"I'd be more glad in the morning."

"We have a hunt in the morning."

Bobby groaned. "Another one? That angel friend of yours sure isn't giving you boys much of a break."

"The apocalypse, Bobby," Dean told him. "It doesn't really take vacations."

"Or naps, apparently."

"Well, sometimes we have to take one for the team."

"We've been taking them every week for the last few months," Bobby said.

"So you should be used to it."

"What is it this time?"

"A demon in Yellowstone," Dean said. "Cas wants me to clean it up. He says there's one big one, and a bunch of groupies following him."

"I still don't see why we can't talk during the daylight," Bobby grumbled. "I"m too old for this dead of night crap. Unless we've got an immediate demon problem, wouldn't we be better off catching some sleep while we can?"

"We _do_ have an immediate demon problem," Dean reminded him.

"Those couple up in Yellowstone will wait, at least until the morning," Bobby said. "Or your buddy Castiel would have booked you there pronto. Use that angel flash forward thing of his."

"That doesn't fix the problem of Sam," Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked around the parking lot.

At that, Bobby sighed. "Still can't trust him?"

"It's not like he comes with a trustworthiness meter built in," Dean griped back.

"It's called talking to him," Bobby returned. "Has he lied to you?"

"No."

"Has he tried to get away?"

Dean sighed. "No."

"So what exactly aren't we trusting here?"

"You seem to be forgetting how he lied to me, trusted a demon, got addicted to demon blood, and, to top it all off, _started the apocalypse_. We've got some work to do yet."

"Boy, I know what Sam's done," Bobby said. "But it's been _months_. That brother of yours hasn't shown any signs of relapse. He hasn't shown the slightest inclination toward anything evil."

"That's what I thought for nearly 25 years," Dean said. "And look where my trust got me? I can't let the kid screw up again. I won't. I don't like it, but I think Castiel's right about this one--keep Sam on a need to know basis--for his own good and ours. Hell, who knows if he still feels drawn to demons? Maybe his blood is connected to them. Letting him in on too much planning could just be a temptation he doesn't need. We have to keep it together this time, and I'm doing it the best I can."

It was Bobby's turn to sigh. "And you're doing good work," he said. "It's just...hard. You know your ritual to get rid of this demon?"

"A straight up exorcism should work on the big gun," Dean said. "Cas thinks the rest will just crash and burn without her."

"You have a back up plan?"

Dean scoffed. "Of course I have a back up plan," he said. He couldn't stop the sheepish grin from spreading over his face. "Why do you think I'm calling you?"

He could practically see Bobby rolling his eyes. "You want something for a mass exorcism, right?"

"Yeah, that would be great," Dean said. "Thanks for asking."

Bobby grumbled something about _damn fool ingratitude_ and _selfish brats never change_, and Dean just grinned. It felt good to know at least one person out there loved him.

"I'll have it in the morning," Bobby said. "Call me back when you're on your way."

"Awesome," Dean said. "Get some rest."

"Not likely," Bobby groused.

"At least you never change," Dean said, and it was true. When the world was falling apart, when Cas got all stoic and flighty, when Sam got silent and withdrawn, Bobby was still Bobby.

There was a pause. "You sure you two are okay?" Bobby asked, and Dean could hear the concern in his voice.

Some things really didn't change. Bobby had been asking that question for months now, ever since he'd called about Sam's little problem. The concern meant something--it meant a lot--but Dean needed less conversation and more action. With the apocalypse breathing down their necks, Dean was pretty sure he didn't have time to worry about _okay_. He just had to worry about _winning_. "We've got freakin' angels in our corner," Dean reminded him. "We're as well off as we could be."

"No, I mean, you and Sam. Have, you know, you two dealt with it any better?"

Dean thought about that. It was sort of all part of his denial. If he could pretend like it was okay, if he could just act like Sam following orders meant that they were a team again, then things were as good as they could be. For now, anyway. Maybe there would be time--later. "You mean dealt with the fact that my little brother became a murdering blood addict who started the apocalypse? No, we're avoiding that one for a little while longer."

He heard Bobby sigh. "Dean, come on," he said. "This isn't all Sam's fault. I'm worried about him. The way he's so quiet, withdrawn. It's not right."

"I'm keeping an eye on him," Dean assured him. "I'll make sure he doesn't do anything stupid--to himself or others."

"But he needs to deal with it," Bobby said. "If your brother is anything, it's strong willed."

As if Dean didn't know that. It was a bitter pill to swallow, and his voice took on an edge. "And we both know how much good that did him."

"Damn it, boy, _listen _to me," Bobby said. "Your brother screwed up, there's no denying that. And you and I both know he's sorry."

"Like that's enough?" Dean asked. Because sorry wasn't enough. Sorry wasn't enough to undo what he'd done in hell. And sorry sure as hell wasn't enough to undo what Sam had done to himself, to the world, to _Dean _over the last year. "He's my brother, and I will be there for him no matter what. But we've got bigger things right now, and you _know_ I don't have time to hold his hand. He's dealing with it. We're getting rid of demons _together_, no demon blood or freaky ass powers involved."

There was a pause. "Yeah, I guess you're right," Bobby said. "You know, you can put him on sometimes."

"He's sleeping."

"And you can't call when he's awake?" Bobby asked.

"Why don't you call him?" Dean said. He was his brother's keeper, apparently, but he had given up on his brother's social life.

"The idjit won't talk to me," Bobby said. "Just says _yes _or _no _until I give up."

"That's all I get out of him half the time, too," Dean said.

"That's why I'm thinkin' something's wrong," Bobby continued.

"Of course something's wrong," Dean said. "He started the apocalypse, okay? If he wasn't a little sorry, then we'd really have to worry."

Bobby sighed. "Yeah, I suppose," he said. "Just...be good to him."

"He's my brother," Dean said, and that was the heart of it, in the end. What made it so hard and so easy all at once. "If I didn't love him so damned much, I would have had to put a bullet in him back in Maryland. But I can't do that--if I'm supposed to save the world and all that, it starts with Sam, no questions asked."

"It's just good to hear that you two are sticking together," Bobby said. "That's a force no angel or demon could ever break. You damn Winchesters are too bullheaded to be stopped."

If anyone would know, it was Bobby. For that, Dean was grateful. Bobby was a man of rough sentimentality, but Dean could see through him. For the gruff and gall, Bobby was in their corner. For that, Bobby was more than their go-to guy for exorcisms and demonic lore. For that, Bobby was family.

The only family who hadn't betrayed him.

"I'll call you in the morning," Dean said.

"Get some sleep," Bobby said.

"You, too."

"Not likely," Bobby grumbled, and the call ended.

Shaking his head, Dean closed his phone. Angels might have been in their corner, but those winged SOBs didn't mean half as much as Bobby.

Feeling a little better, Dean let himself back into the room. He gave Sam's sleeping form a once over before kicking off his shoes and taking off his jacket. Shrugging out of his over-shirt, he stripped down to his boxers, crawled beneath the covers, and went to sleep.

-o-

Sam was at his laptop when Dean woke up. He was dressed, but still looked disheveled. Apparently, his brother seemed to think that the apocalypse was the time to forgo personal grooming.

Dean rolled onto his back, trying not to groan. The hunt had gotten monotonous over the last few years--constant and draining, with loss and failure and regret everywhere he looked.

And to think, those were the good old days.

With a sigh, he threw one arm over his head. He wanted to stay in bed forever, pretend like today didn't exist. Another day of hunting demons, of doing God's work--for whatever that was worth. Another day of trying to live with Sam.

He couldn't avoid it. Miserably, he got out of bed. The coffee pot was already going, and Dean poured himself a cup, walking sluggishly to the table. Sitting down, he took a sip. "How long have you been up?"

"A few hours," Sam said quietly.

It seemed typical enough. "You got our coordinates, then?"

Sam pushed a piece of paper to him. "It's on the north end of the park, up in a pretty remote area."

Dean looked at the place circle on the map, nodding as he took a sip of coffee. "Any idea who our victim is?"

"Cecelia Rodgers," Sam replied readily. "She's been a ranger there for about seven years. She lives on site with her boyfriend. Then she just stopped showing up to work about two weeks ago, right when the whole thing started."

"Sounds like a good bet, then," Dean said. "Local law enforcement have any leads on her?"

"They think she's missing in the woods. Possibly killed in the storms that went through there."

"I'm guessing we're not talking thunderstorms."

Sam pushed a pile of meteorological reports at him. The important points were circles, including the dates and descriptions. "There was no atmospheric reason for them," Sam confirmed. "Came out of nowhere, caused extensive damaged, and vanished."

"Just another trait of our lovely apocalypse," Dean muttered, shaking his head.

Sam flinched a little at that, but reined it in quickly, turning his attention back to the computer. "We'll have to hike to the site," he continued, his voice sounded more strained than before.

"Well, then," Dean said, shuffling the papers. "Sounds like we have quite the day ahead of us."

Sam didn't reply, just kept clicking away.

"You know, it usually helps if you say something back."

Sam looked up, eyebrows raised. "Like what?"

"Like you want to pet a buffalo or you'd like to steal the towels," Dean said with a shrug. "_Anything_. It's like living with a black hole. You suck all the life out of anything."

Sam looked a little dumbfounded, and Dean could almost here the bitchy comeback.

Instead, Sam licked his lips, knit his brows together. "Sorry," he murmured. "I just...get so focused."

Dean sighed. This wasn't worth the effort. There was too much there, too much that Dean just wasn't ready to deal with. If Sam wasn't focused on the hunt, Dean didn't want to think what else the kid could fixate on. It was probably better not to find out. Maybe ever. "Yeah, yeah," he muttered. "I'm going to go take a shower."

Sam just nodded, looking uncertainly at his brother again.

Dean felt like he should say something, but there was nothing to say. Just a shower to take and a hunt to finish.

With another swig of coffee, he headed to the bathroom, turning the shower on as hot as it could go.

-o-

When he got out of the shower, Dean found the room packed and organized. The beds were made and their duffels were placed near the door. Sam was at the table, still poring over his notes.

It was familiar, yet not quite. An approximation of how it used to be, without any of the real trust that used to anchor it. He could trust Sam to do research, he could trust Sam to follow orders on a hunt, but Dean wasn't sure what else was beyond that. He couldn't trust Sam's opinion--he didn't know how to trust the kid's choices. And he sure as hell couldn't trust Sam with emotions--Dean's own, as well as Sam's.

It might have been efficient, but it was nothing like it used to be. The Winchester brothers were reunited, but they were brothers in name only. The intimacy of their emotional bond was still broken, and Dean wasn't sure he wanted to know how much of their blood connection was gone now as well.

If he didn't ask the question, he would never have to know the answer. Instead, he tossed his towel to the bed and rolled his shoulders. "You about ready there?"

Sam pushed his notes into a pile. "Yeah," he said. "The stuff's by the door."

There was more to it than that--at least there should have been--but whether it sucked or not, this was the apocalypse. Dean could play that card for as long as the damn thing lasted. Besides, Sam should be grateful they _were_ focused on the hunt and not the crap that had gone down between them.

Sam didn't look particularly grateful, but that was Sam's problem.

Dean smiled. "Awesome. Let's roll out."

Shouldering his own duffel, he opened the door. Sam followed him, ducking out the door, head down in the sunlight. Dean let the door shut behind him, and looked out at the daylight. "Hard to believe it's the end of the world sometimes."

Sam didn't reply.

With a sigh, Dean popped open the trunk, throwing his bag inside. Sam repeated the action and as Dean closed it, he met Sam's eye briefly.

Pausing, Dean licked his lips. "You sure you're up for this?"

Sam nodded. "Sure," he said. "Castiel said it needed to be done, right?"

"Yeah," Dean said, and he looked at the keys in his hand. "It's just--"

It was just that Sam didn't seem okay. Sam didn't seem evil, but he didn't seem like he was fighting with all he had. Sam didn't deal well with demons--Sam didn't deal well with _anything _anymore. It made every hunt a question mark, an uncertainty. Not that he thought Sam would betray him, but that he just couldn't _trust _him.

He sighed. "Nothing," he said, unlocking his door. He'd call Bobby from the road, have Sam copy down the exorcism. But for now, he wanted to make tracks, and make them fast. The sooner they left, the sooner this was all over. "If we hurry, we can get there by mid-afternoon."

Sam climbed in, settling himself in the passenger's seat.

Dean gave his brother one last look before throwing the car into gear with a grimace. He squealed the tires out of the lot, just because.

-o-

It wasn't hard to find their demon. Everything within a five mile radius was dead, and the closer they got into deadened forest, the more charred things looked. Dean adjusted his grip on his backpack, squinting upward through the vacant woods. "How the hell are they explaining this?"

Sam was walking two steps behind him, loaded down with his own gear. "Freak lightning storm," he said. "Started a brush fire so intense that it burned itself out like a fireball."

Dean grunted. "And people believe it?"

"They don't know what else to believe," came Sam's quiet reply.

Dean just shook his head. "Poor ignorant saps," he muttered, glancing at his brother with a shake of his head.

Sam didn't say anything, but kept his face composed.

Turning his attention back to the trek ahead of him, Dean almost wished there was something to say. Some kind of peace he could offer Sam. The guilt factor was a large reason why Sam's panties were continually in a twist, and if nothing else, alleviating it would put some of the spark into the hunt. Dean understood it was the apocalypse, and that would never be _fun_, but as wearing as the first thirty years of his life had been, the last six months had been a whole new kind of trial. All the expectations, all the hope riding on _him_. He wasn't just trying to carry his little brother out of the fire, he was trying to carry the whole _world_. As flippant as he might be with Castiel and as defiant as he could act with Zachariah, the headiness of such a proposition was not lost on him.

Rather, it weighed on him. Heavier than anything else.

Which was why a little levity in the day to day was so damn important. It was why he made sure to eat the best food, to sleep with the prettiest girls. If it was the end of the world, he was going to try to make the best of it.

Hunting with a guy who couldn't even smile wasn't exactly make things all fun and games.

And yet, what could he tell Sam? _It's okay, you only thought you were turning yourself into a monster, not destroying the world. _ Or maybe _You didn't actually _end _the world, you just made everyone's life a living Hell._

All he _wanted_ to say was, _I told you so_ and _who's weak now, bitch?_ but Dean didn't figure that would do much for the morale.

So he said nothing at all.

Instead, he kept on, just like always. He wasn't actually totally sure where was going, but Sam had said the coordinates were due east, so trekking in that general direction seemed to be his best bet. If Sam had any complaints or bright ideas, the kid wasn't sharing, which was fine with Dean. Because then Dean would probably have to go through the trouble of doing the opposite just to be safe.

Overkill, perhaps, and he didn't _actually _live like that. Though it was always a consideration, given Sam's completely crappy track record. Still, Sam was there, by his side. Or, rather, two steps behind him, so as long as Dean was pretty confident that they wouldn't have a bout of fratricide, things would be just fine.

They had been walking for nearly twenty minutes when he heard Sam clear his throat.

Dean braced himself. Sam didn't just clear his throat.

Ignoring it, Dean pushed on, feeling a bead of sweat trickle down the small of his back.

"Dean," Sam said finally. "You think we should stop?"

"And let her have free reign?" Dean asked without missing a step. "Sounds like an awesome plan, Sam."

"No, I mean, think about where she could be."

"You gave me coordinates, didn't you?" Dean asked. He looked pointedly over his shoulder. "Or should I doubt what you wrote down?"

"No, not like that," Sam said, a little quickly. His brow furrowed and he looked down. "I just thought maybe if we did a summoning ritual, we might get her here faster."

There was truth to that, and it wasn't really a bad idea. Dean didn't mind getting physical on the job, but extensive hiking at high altitude was not something he enjoyed. He wondered fleetingly if this was how Sam felt all the time. _Freakin' giant_.

He trusted Sam with research, he trusted Sam to have his back, but major decisions on a hunt? Were they ready for that? Sam was sticking with him, and that meant something, but Dean just wasn't sure it was enough. Sam had stayed with Dean while skanking around with Ruby. Sam had even stayed when he was sucking down demon blood. Just because Sam hunted with him, planned with him, didn't mean that the kid was to be trusted.

It was a fine line and Dean had to go with his gut to figure it out.

And his gut didn't want to give Sam another inch. Sam could play back up and he could play research boy, but that was all Dean was ready for.

"We're talking about one demon in an entire deserted portion of woods," Dean said. "It shouldn't be that hard."

As if to prove his point, a rustle startled them both, and Dean didn't have time to duck as he was bowled over by a running form.

He hit on his hands and knees, swearing as he pushed himself up. At least he'd been right about this. Apparently their demon wasn't going to be hard to find, since she'd found them.

The demon was wearing a short woman, maybe 5'2'' if Dean had to guess. She was wearing khaki shorts and a matching button up shirt, with a bushel of curly hair pulled back into a ponytail. It might have been funny to see, this small woman physically manhandling his enormous brother to the ground, but the fact that she was possessed sort of took the humor from the situation.

It was a bit worrisome to watch Sam fight these days. Dean had always prided himself in being able to kick the kid's ass (one exception notwithstanding, and it was not lost on Dean that Sam had to down demon blood to have a chance), but Sam's skills had slipped in recent months. He wasn't as strong, wasn't as powerful, especially in the hand to hand. As a result, Sam's tendency to get thrown around was stronger than ever, especially when it came to demons, who still took some kind of joy in showing the once Boy King just who was in charge.

Without his mind mojo, Sam just wasn't as good, and it was a truth that was bittersweet.

Still, the hunt relied on not getting killed, at least for the time being. Besides, they didn't have to be on top of their game to still be good. Sam hit her with a face full of holy water.

Angry, she writhed backwards, hissing as she went. Sam scrambled to his feet, pulling back defensively in the opposite direction from Dean.

With a inhuman tilt of her head, she sent Sam crashing backwards, and Dean saw him land hard in the deadened remains of the thicket. He twitched once and went still, limbs sprawled in a tangle around his large body.

With a feral grin, she turned to Dean, eyes are dark as night. "God's chosen savior," she cooed. "I didn't realize I was worthy of such attention."

Dean smirked. "Yeah, your picture will look so nice on my wall of conquests."

"That's a nice thought," she said, her eyes zeroing in on him. "But last I checked, I'm the one with the superpowers. You're just a human. Sammy could have taken me before he jumped on the wagon, but now I'll have to kill him, too. Slowly, though. Because he's just for fun. You--you're all business."

"Then trust me when I tell you that this? Is so not personal."

She looked confused for a second, before her body was racked with a shudder. She convulsed hard, nearly doubling over. Panting, she looked up at Dean. "But--how?"

"A little human trick," Dean told her with a smirk. "Called a diversion."

She convulsed again, this time going to her knees, her entire frame trembling.

Then she heard the Latin.

Turning, she looked over her shoulder.

Sam was standing behind her, his steady stream of Latin rising in intensity and volume.

She looked back at Dean with a shudder, laughing through clenched teeth. "An exorcism?" she asked. "The savior of the world uses an _exorcism_?"

"So simple that it works," he said with a shrug.

With a cry, she went to all fours, tears streaming down her face. "It won't kill Lucifer."

"It doesn't need to kill Lucifer," Dean told her. "I just need to kill you."

She dropped her face again, crying harder now. She laughed through it, strained and desperate. "It's not even _you_," she said. "You're using _Sam_. You don't trust him to take a piss on his own, but you let him do this."

"Well, there's one thing I know for sure," Dean said. "If anyone hates demons as much as I do, it's Sam. _Always_."

She gave him one more look, peering up at him through her hair before she gasped, her back going rigid. Eyes wide, her mouth opened. Blackness streamed from it, fast and furious, disappearing into the sky with a roar.

When it ended, the woman's body collapsed limply to the ground.

Dean looked at his brother, standing on the other side of the fallen ranger.

"You had me worried there," Dean said. "You looked pretty out of it."

Sam took a step forward, wincing. "I landed on a tree stump."

"I always thought you had a stick up your ass," Dean said.

Sam did not look amused. "What about you?" he asked. "You only kept her distracted for, like, a minute. Cutting it kind of close there, aren't you?"

Dean shrugged. "You can read quickly," he said. "I mean, I'm sure it would go quicker if you used your mojo like you used to, but this straight and narrow stuff isn't so bad."

Sam's posture stiffened a little, and he looked down. When he looked back up, he didn't meet Dean's eyes. "We should get started on the next part."

Dean didn't have time for sulking, so he had to agree. "You study up on the exorcism a little more and I'll get the stuff set up for the summoning ritual."

"You sure we can handle a whole group at once?"

Dean made a face. "Dude, you question?" he asked, only half-joking.

Sam offered him the shadow of a smile, before looking back at his notes.

-o-

Dean was almost there. He had lit a few candles, said a few Latin prayers, and was steadily working on blessing the ground, when something first seemed off. There was a twittering, like wind in the leaves.

Which might have been normal if all the trees within a five-mile radius weren't gone.

Perplexed, he went back to work.

Then he heard it again. Louder. Like a whisper but somehow _more_.

Uncertain, he looked at Sam, eyeing his brother critically. The kid was sitting on a tree stump, flipping through the pages of Bobby's exorcism.

Eyes narrowed, Dean turned his attention back to his summoning ritual. He had almost convinced himself it was nothing, when it rustled again.

"Dude," Dean snapped, looking back at Sam. "What are you doing over there?"

Sam looked up at him, wide eyed. "Just reading the exorcism," he said. "The more I know by heart, the faster it'll go."

"No, I mean--" Dean tried to explain. "You didn't hear that?"

Sam listened for a second. "Hear what?"

"Hear...oh, never mind," Dean said, and he turned back to his work. He was so intent on it, that he didn't see the little bunny until it was right in front of him.

The sight startled him. Not because he was scared of bunnies, but because the damn thing had come out of nowhere. Dean liked bunnies, but he didn't need Peter Cottontail distracting him from killing demons.

At least that explained the rustling. Dean grinned at it, shaking his head a little. He was getting jumpy in his old age. It was just a _bunny_. A cute little thing with perky little ears and a cotton ball tail. It sat there, head quirked to the side. Just watching.

It was an odd sight, especially given the lack of life in the area. There wasn't a green plant for miles, much less any critters. So how this little dude got so far off the beaten path, Dean wasn't sure, but he felt a little sorry for it.

Maybe it was bored or lonely, which would explain why it just wanted to sit there and watch. And, really, who could blame the bunny? Dean was pretty awesome.

But then it kept watching. And watching and watching and watching.

"Dude," Dean said finally. "What's up with this bunny?"

Sam looked up, a little perplexed, his eyes settling on the small creature. "That's...weird," he said.

Suddenly, another bunny appeared, hopping from the charred foliage. Dean cocked his head, watching as it joined the first. "That's _really _weird," he said.

Both brother watched as another bunny followed, and then the whole trio was joined by a pair of squirrels. When a mountain goat lumbered onto the scene, Dean's heart skipped a beat. "You don't think demon blood attracts wildlife, do you?" he asked, glancing furtively at Sam.

Sam was standing now, coming closer. "Dean," he said. "I think they're possessed."

Dean made a face, looking back at the bunnies. "Possessed? What kind of demons possess _bunnies_?"

"Lower level lackeys," Sam said. "Did Castiel say what form they'd be in?"

The answer to that was _no_, but then again, Dean hadn't thought to ask. He wasn't sure what he'd assumed or even what would show up when he summoned them. He had been hoping for the nice black smoke variety, but maybe he'd assumed wrong.

The air quaked a little, and the hissing whisper grew louder.

Sam swallowed hard next to him when a bear lumbered into the picture, followed by a small herd of elk. Birds were landing around them, and slowly but surely, the entire area was filling with animals.

"But why the bunnies?" Dean said. "I don't want to hunt _bunnies_."

"I don't think we have a choice," Sam said, his voice low. "Because if we don't, I think they're going to hunt us."

As if on cue, the growing horde tittered, edging closer as their eyes turned black.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Thanks for the comments on part one! I should have mentioned this is a four part fic. Also, to any nervous Sam girls, I hope you can just trust me :)

-o-

They had retreated, falling back behind the cover of a particularly intact log. It was mostly a precaution, since so far their little friends hadn't made a move toward them. But their numbers were growing, and the group seemed restless. There was a definite hum in their air, and Dean wasn't sure if it was a safe bet to just charge ahead with the summoning ritual or to come up with some other kind of plan. These demons were obviously up to something--something not good.

But there was no easy answer. A mass exorcism could send the entire group into a frenzy, and all the demons might not even _be _there. Dean had no way of knowing and question marks like those were not exactly reassuring.

Frustrated, he muttered a curse.

"So, what do you want to do?" Sam asked, giving the animals a look over the top of the log.

Dean glowered. "Get the hell out of here and grab a beer," he grumbled.

Sam barely restrained a sigh. "We might want to get rid of the pack of demons first," he suggested lightly.

"Gee, really? Did you have to ask your demon blood to help you clarify that one? Or maybe you consulted Lucifer since, you know, you let him out?"

Sam's face registered hurt, but he pulled it back quickly.

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. That had been a low blow, but he just didn't have the patience. He could handle one fiasco at a time--stopping a legion of demons and handling his little brother's lack of judgment all at once was just not his cup of tea. This was supposed to be an in-and-out job, quick and to the point, and Sam's sarcasm was_ not _helping him think this through.

Looking at the animals, he could see the bunnies were starting to bounce and the squirrels were chattering. Groaning, he turned back, resting his head against the log. "Dude, this is _not_ how Cas explained it," Dean said.

"Then how did he explain it?" Sam asked, his eyebrows raised expectantly. It was a look Dean recognized from long ago, something of incredulity and little brother pride. In fact, it was the closest Sam had come to a bitchface in _months_.

Dean's brow furrowed--he had to stay focused. "He said they wouldn't be any trouble. Something about falling apart without their leader, I think."

"You think?" The comment was snarky, more than Dean had expected. He had thrown the big stuff at Sam, a reference to the demon blood and all, and yet the kid wasn't backing down. There was something to that, but there wasn't time for it. Not now. He could only hope that Sam would get his act together and not make Dean regret trusting him on this one.

"Dude, it was a five minute conversation, give me a break," Dean snapped. He took a deep breath. Heaven chose him to be a leader, to make the hard choices. So that was exactly what he was going to do. Reassert his authority--and Sam had better pay attention, along with the demons. "We're just going to have to keep going ahead with the plan."

Sam gaped a little, looking at his brother to the forming herd of animals. "There's got to be nearly two hundred of them."

Dean followed his brother's gaze. "Half of them are smaller than a beaver, so they don't count."

"And some of them are bears, so they count twice."

Dean scrunched his nose. "You got any bright ideas, genius?"

"I don't think a mass exorcism is going to work," Sam said, shaking his head.

"Of course it will."

"Yeah, if we could keep them from eating us first, maybe."

"You just you do your job, and I'll do mine," Dean said.

"Dude, you can distract a walking, talking demon, but these are _animals_. With a group mentality. They're getting stronger by the minute, and an exorcism is just going to piss them off."

"So read fast."

"Have you seen this exorcism?" Sam asked. "It's involved."

Dean had seen it, but he wasn't about to admit defeat on this point--or on _any_ point. They had to stick to the plan. If Dean had learned anything over the last year, it was that deviations from the plan were simply not a good idea. Not unless they wanted to start the apocalypse--_again_. "We follow the plan," Dean told him again.

Time was growing shorter now, Dean could tell that much. The animals were twitching now, some in tandem, and a couple of the squirrels were skittering ever closer to them. It was time to finish this. Castiel wouldn't have sent them on this mission if he had doubted Dean's capability of getting it done.

Sam didn't look convinced. Doubt lingered in Sam's eyes for a long second before he dropped his head, nodding. "Okay. You have holy water?" Sam asked, looking up.

Dean held up his bottle.

"Be careful," Sam said.

"I don't need to be careful, Sammy," Dean returned with a grin. "I've got God as a backup. What more do I need?"

Sam didn't reply as he retreated a bit. His brother pulled the exorcism from his pack, looking over it briefly before looking back at Dean. Dean nodded, turning and going in the other direction, giving up any semblance of stealth as he crashed through the deadened forest.

Whether they were responded to Dean's movement or Sam's Latin, Dean wasn't sure, but the group tittered, almost jittering in a wave. Like they were following one another, which wasn't a very reassuring thought.

Bottle poised, Dean waited. There was no sense provoking them until they struck first. Dean wasn't sure how much sentience they had or if they knew anything about plotting, so it wasn't clear how long it would take them to figure out what was up. Still, even without a conscious mind, Dean knew that the fight-or-flight syndrome was bound to kick in eventually, and he just didn't know how a herd of possessed wild animals would go about that.

An owl screeched, swooping low at Dean. He ducked, cursing a little, flinging an arc of holy water at it as it dove at him again.

Hissing in pain, the owl veered off, slamming hard into a raccoon. With a squeal of disapproval, the raccoon lashed back.

It was the break in the waiting game that caused all hell to break loose.

A bear turned on a buffalo, while a group of rabbits hopping in unison charged at Dean. Dean hit them with a spray of holy water. Recoiling, they seemed to cough as they smoked, but Dean's reprieve was short as a porcupine reared its tail at him.

Frustrated, Dean hurled a branch at it, and the thing misfired, right into some weird quasi-buffalo looking creature with a mop of hair that looked just like Sam's.

Now Dean was seeing his brother in demonic wildlife. He wasn't sure if Sam should be insulted...or if the animals should.

Not that he had time to think about that.

Not if he was going to survive to rib his brother about it.

Hastily, he considered his next line of defense. Sam was right about the lack of distractions--these demons weren't sophisticated enough to be deterred and yet just with it enough to really know what they wanted.

Dean didn't know exactly what they wanted, but generalized death and destruction was really not something he wanted today. Or ever. Especially when he was probably first on the hit list.

So he just had to keep playing the field. Stupid things that they were--they seemed easy enough to fend off with the holy water and some mad dodging skills.

He sidestepped a badger-like thing, which thudded into a tree stump behind him. The animals were closer now, packed together and growing louder. They still bucked and squirmed, as though they were trying to figure out their own skins. Which, Dean thought, they probably were. The demons were trying to make sense of where they were and of what they could do. Cutting the head of the snake didn't actually kill it--it just made it the damn thing regroup.

The thought struck him with a cold pang of dread. _Hive mentality_. They were used to following orders, so maybe all these workers bees would get together and plan their own attack. They all were joined by similar nefarious ambitious, and given the increasing cadence of their shrill jabber and mewls, they were building to something.

Which made sense. Why they were gathering. Why they were just _standing _there, _staring_. Attacking in small groups, incrementally growing more agitated.

This hunt just kept getting better and better.

He looked back at Sam, hidden in the brush as best he could from the prying eyes of the little black eyed fuzz-balls. At least Sam was secure enough to do the exorcism--for now.

There was a furious squeak and a frantic flurry, and Dean turned, ready to move, but the action wasn't aimed at him.

No, the little gang of chipmunks were scurrying to his right, passing him for something else.

Dean swore.

The ranger.

Focused now, he moved ahead, yelling as he went. He splattered the chipmunks with last of the water, and they scattered, skittering off from the ranger's prone body.

Dean tossed the empty bottle to the side, his attention on the ranger. He could see she was still okay--a few chipmunk bites to the contrary--but she was still breathing. His relief was short lived when he heard the approach of pounding hooves.

Looking up, he had time to see an elk charging him.

Cursing again, he realized he had no other means of protection. The knife wouldn't be effective against a charging animal of that size and the rest of the holy water was back in his pack. He had nothing he could do except get out of the way, which would have been a whole lot easier without an unconscious park ranger to protect.

It wasn't much of a decision to make--he couldn't leave her suffer her fate, be it possession or being trampled. Heart pounding, he bent over to pick up the ranger, but he knew he wouldn't have enough time. The best he could do was cover her from what was happening next.

He hit the ground, curling around her, and tucked in his head as best he could as he waited for the impact.

Which never came.

There was an animalistic grunt and the hoofbeats stilled in a hiss of smoke.

Peaking up, Dean saw his brother standing over him, a bottle of holy water in his hands.

"You think we should rethink this strategy?" Sam asked.

Dean looked back at the animals. They were moving together more, and they were louder, their voices sounded more in tune. "They know we can't protect the ranger and get rid of them."

"There's just too many," Sam said. "If I start the Latin again, they'll keep attacking."

It was then Dean realized that his brother's presence meant the exorcism wasn't happening. Pushing himself to his feet, he glowered at his brother, jogging toward him as Sam pulled the ranger's limp body back behind a large fallen tree. "Dude, I told you to stick to the plan."

"You were going to get trampled," Sam protested as Dean settled in next to him.

"I would have been fine," Dean said. "I need to trust that you'll follow orders."

"I did follow orders."

"If you had followed orders, you might be done by now."

"The exorcism is too long, Dean," Sam said, and he was pleading a bit now. He shook his papers at Dean. "I was barely two pages in out of ten."

Bobby had explained that mass exorcisms were hard to come by. "So we have to create a barrier, some kind of safe zone."

"On what? The ground is littered with debris. It's too uneven. We'd never have time to clear an area to lay something down."

"So we spray paint it."

"And one moved twig, and they're through it, just like that. It'll never hold."

"Okay, Mr. Negative," Dean snapped, glancing nervously at the animals. The whole front tier seemed to be swaying in unison now, finding a rhythm that Dean had to think wasn't good. "You want to piss on every idea I have or help me figure this out before they attack again."

"That's my point, Dean," Sam said. "Do you really think we can pull this off before they attack again? Even if we can steer clear of them, how long until they've got their act together?"

"We don't even know what that means," Dean hissed.

"They're building toward something," Sam said, and it shouldn't have surprised Dean that Sam figured it out. "It's almost like--"

"They're trying to become one," Dean finished for him.

Sam looked grim. "It makes sense. They lost their leader, but they're still inherently joined. They know what they're meant to do, and now they just have to regroup. They're lower level demons, not lesser life forms."

"So they're still hard-wired to cause mass destruction, all with one freaky-assed mind."

"Starting with us," Sam said. "We don't have anything to hold them back."

"Which is why we need to stop them before they do that," Dean said. "Which is why you never should have stopped reading. We're wasting time."

"Dean--" Sam began.

Dean didn't have the time or the patience. These demons may have been lower tier, but Castiel had been right about this job. Together, they _could_ cause serious destruction. The fact that they didn't have a fearless leader to command them was actually not reassuring at all. Untamed evil wasn't any better than the calculated variety, and Sam's sudden desire to start questioning again had picked a hell of a time to reassert itself.

Dean needed to stop these demons--here and now--so that lives could be saved.

Starting with the ranger.

Which was a perfect job for Sam. He could get her to safety and get Sam out of the way. That way, Sam would be safe and Dean could focus on the job at hand. His brother clearly meant well, but Sam's judgment still wasn't what it used to be. Dean wasn't sure it ever would be, but that wasn't something he had time to contemplate now.

"Take the ranger and get her out of here," Dean ordered flatly.

Sam looked incredulous. "What?"

Dean took the exorcism, steeling himself. "Take the ranger and get her out of here," he said again.

"Dean, you can't do this by yourself," he said.

"Yeah, I can," Dean said. "I've done it by myself before. Who do you think was in charge of things while you were off sucking demon blood? Or when you were going through detox? I know what I'm doing."

"There's got to be another way," Sam said.

"Damn it, Sam, there isn't time," he said sharply. He glanced over his shoulder. The animals were louder now, growing closer. "They're going to have their act together in no time, and if that happens, then a lot of people could die. Do you want that on your conscience?"

That hit Sam--harder than Dean had intended. Sam already carried the deaths of every soul since Lucifer broke out on his conscience, whether it was directly his fault of not. Dean couldn't bring himself to think about whether he held Sam accountable for that as well, but what he _did _know was that they could save people today. Starting with the ranger.

Dean's eyes softened. No matter what Sam had done, seeing the kid hurt wasn't easy. And Sam had tried and he _was _trying. He just didn't have it all figured out yet. They could work on that--later. Sam's mind wasn't focused on the right things; his judgment wasn't up to par yet. The best thing would for Sam to be away from here and safe so Dean could clean up this mess.

"Trust me," Dean said, emphatically, meeting Sam's gaze squarely. "You take her, and you go. You don't look back. I've got this."

Sam's forehead creased, and Dean saw a shadow of doubt flit through Sam's eyes. "Dean--"

Dean's features tightened, his jaw clenching. The concern in his brother's voice was suddenly crystal clear, just like it used to be. Sam was worried about Dean--worried about losing Dean. Dean had missed that--more than he had realized--but this wasn't the time for it. Just like this was no the time for Sam's independence to come back to the foreground. They would work on that, sure, but only in the right time and in the right context when Dean was sure Sam wouldn't screw everything up. Dean had planned on starting with simple things, like picking whether they got Italian or Mexican, not how to run a hunt on the fly.

Resolved, Dean's gaze didn't waver. "You _will _do this, Sam."

Sam's face contorted, and his eyes looked a little wet. "It's suicide, Dean," Sam said. "There are over fifty--"

"And I've got the exorcism to get rid of them," Dean reassured him.

"You're going to need backup."

"Not from you," Dean snapped, harsher than he intended. But the forest was growing hotter, and Dean could hear the throbbing hum of the demons growing louder.

"Dean, I can help--"

"By taking her out of here."

"No, Dean--"

There wasn't time for this. Dean's compassion waned--he understood Castiel's lack of warm fuzzies now better than he wanted to admit. They had a civilian to get out, and Dean needed to have his wits about him. This task was daunting, a hell of lot harder than Cas had suggested, which is why he needed to focus. And he wouldn't focus with Sam around--the kid was just proving the point. Sam could handle simple jobs, but in all the chaos, Dean needed to make sure Sam didn't do something stupid. He'd neglected his watch once, with disastrous results, and this hunt wasn't shaping up to be much better. This wasn't the time or place for Dean to take a chance.

"You really think you have any ground to stand on when it comes to making decisions?" he said, knowing it was a low blow. But he'd hurt Sam if it meant keeping the kid safe--if it meant keeping the _world _safe. "If you'd just shut the hell up and followed along a few months ago, we wouldn't be here at all."

Pain swept across Sam's face and he paled, swallowing hard. His mouth opened, then closed, and Dean saw him turn hastily. This time, Sam didn't hesitate. Dean watched his brother a moment longer as the kid pulled the ranger's unconscious body into his arms. Shoulders rigid, back straight, Sam didn't look back as he headed quickly down the trail, steps uneven and stunted. Dean didn't have to see his face to know that his brother was crying.

Better crying than dead, Dean figured. Licking his lips, he looked back at the exorcism in his hand, hoping that he could read fast enough. He just had to keep one eye on the demons, and the other on the words. If he kept moving, he'd be harder to hit, and hopefully the exorcism would disrupt their progress.

It wasn't much of a plan, but it was all he had. It would work, Dean was pretty sure.

Besides, it wasn't like he had many other choices at the moment.

With a deep breath, he started reading.

-o-

A page later, Dean was really beginning to wonder why he had thought this would work.

In theory, the plan still seemed like a good idea. But when black-eyed bunnies were pairing off with seething ground hogs to keep him perpetually on the move, it made keeping up with the exorcism a little more difficult than he'd anticipated.

And a lot slower.

Which meant the animals were getting better. Their attacks were becoming coordinated, happening in bunches, once involving five moose all at once. And the noise was growing louder--an ominous sign that Dean didn't really want to contemplate.

Mostly, he just knew he might need that back up after all.

The roaring ratcheted up another notch, so loud that Dean's ears felt like they were ringing. Grimacing, he yelled louder, trying to speak even faster.

He was two-thirds through at least. He was making progress.

But so were they. Now, they writhed almost as one, the shoots of pain from the Latin snaking through them like a well planned wave.

The roar turned into a hissing laugh, loud and penetrating.

Dean couldn't help but stop, listening in horror.

"We are Legion," they said, and it wasn't human and it wasn't even animal. Dean's skin prickled as the voices rippled with laughter, still barely joined enough to speak. "For we are many. And you are one. We will _destroy_." The voice splintered, coming together and falling apart, getting garbled in parts, but the deadly message was clear.

They were right about the first few counts, and Dean didn't want to find out about the last point there. Not if he could help it, and at this point, he was starting to doubt if he could.

"Cas!" he screamed, feeling a little desperate. He was the type to do it alone, he really was, but he wasn't above asking for a little divine intervention these days--not with the stakes as high as they were. The angels wouldn't let him die. They couldn't. Not when he was the one, the only hope. Hell, even Zachariah would save his ass for that end, and right about then, Dean would take what he could get.

He steeled himself, quickening his pace. He had to finish this thing before they got their acts together and worked as one. A few possessed bunnies wouldn't be a problem, but a whole herd of them, including cougars and moose and bears (oh _crap_) was a bit more than he wanted to feasibly handle.

They weren't coordinating their attacks on a full scale yet--but he could see them building to it. The buzz was nearly deafening, and Dean had to scream just to overpower it, the Latin coming from him gutturally.

Just a bit longer--just a bit faster--

It was going to be too late. After everything, _this _was going to be too late.

Then, the buzzing splintered, and for a second, Dean thought it was over. He cringed, pulling inward on himself, before he realized that they hadn't reached their pinnacle. They had descended into chaos.

Surprised and relieved, Dean turned his head, expecting to see a flap of wings or the damn heavenly light that followed Cas around. What he saw instead was Sam.

His brother had a bottle of holy water, which he waved again at the crowd of animals, sprinkling it haphazardly over the lot. They hissed and screeched; somewhere a moose bellowed.

"We have to go!" Sam yelled at him. "We don't have a lot of time."

Dean pulled his pack over his shoulder. "I thought I told you to leave!" he said.

"I did," Sam told him. "And I came back."

"But the ranger--"

"Is safe," Sam said. "She regained consciousness halfway there, and it turned out she used to run track. We were in the safe zone in no time, and I told her to keep walking and not look back. Given what she'd just been through, I'm pretty sure she believed me."

"This is my job, man," Dean said.

Sam looked at the horde of animals. "Yeah," he said. He met Dean's eyes, and Dean tried to remember the last time that had happened. "And I was just being your backup."

Backup. What a novel concept. Especially of the non-winged variety. There was a time he'd taken that for granted, when Sam at his side was just a given. He had missed it, but he hadn't let himself believe that they were ready for that yet.

But here Sam was. He had followed all the rules, he had done exactly what he was supposed to, and he had taken it a step further--he had thought on his feet and filled in where needed. Dean had been so scared to _trust_ Sam, that it had been easier to squelch his brother's meager proactive efforts. It had been safer, but not _better_.

Sam had a lot to atone for, and it still hurt Dean to think about some of it, but maybe it was time to move on. To let go and help Sam let go. Maybe it was time to restore the balance.

He grinned. "Then why didn't you get here sooner?" Dean asked. "They were about to start gnawing at me."

Sam's smile dared to appear, dimples flashing briefly, before he pulled his emotions back into check. "Yeah, well," he said. "I have more than enough to feel guilty about. I couldn't let you get killed this time around."

It was true enough. "So, you think we should go?" Dean asked, glancing behind him. The rabbits were bouncing into each other and a moose was banging its antlers into a tree while the buffalo scraped roughly at the ground. The multitude of animals were twitching and twittering, and more and more of them were glaring at them with a vengeance. Nearly the whole pack was swaying together now, seeming to breathe together with a growing intensity.

Sam scrunched his nose. "Well, staying would sort of defeat the purpose of a saving you."

"Then let's book it, little brother," Dean said.

Sam flashed another slight grin, before reining it back. He brought his eyebrows together, flinging the last of the holy water at the gathering of animals.

As the group writhed anew in a hiss of smoke, Dean pushed Sam hard in front of them, and they stumbled into action.

They moved quickly, running fast, even over the uneven terrain. Their pace was purposeful and powerful, and for a moment, they were working in tandem, moving as one, just like old times. Just like they were supposed to. And, for a second, Dean remembered what it was like, remembered why he'd made the deal, remembered why _Sam_ had mattered so much to him.

For a moment, it was perfect.

Then he heard the rise of voices behind him. "We are Legion. We are many. You are few. You will be destroyed."

He spared a glance over his shoulder, and saw the ash kicking up behind them. A growing cloud of debris and the rising swell of voices.

He prodded Sam again. "They're coming," he breathed, and he felt Sam pick up his pace in front of him.

The hurtled headlong, though neither of them could have articulated where or why. Even at their clip, the demons would move faster, and unless Castiel showed up, they would still have to perform the exorcism, with all of its wordiness, with nothing more than whatever holy water or iron they had left lying around. That just didn't bode well.

Dean was beginning to feel a little nervous when Sam came to a skidding halt in front of him.

Surprised, Dean didn't have time to stop, tripping into his brother, and they both fell to the ground hard, in a tangle of limbs. Dean's face scraped hard against the ground, and he got a mouthful of ash, before he landed on his back.

Rolling to all fours, he swore. "What the hell?" he asked.

Sam was already standing, squinting out in front of him, his chest still heaving with the effort. "How do you feel about swimming?"

Pushing to his feet, Dean shook his head, panting. "How do you feel about actually _finishing_ our great escape?"

"I thought you might like to look before you leap," Sam said.

Then Dean saw why.

The terrain dropped off. Over the edge, Dean could see at least a thirty-foot drop, straight into the river below.

He swore again, glancing behind him. "You've so got to be kidding me."

Sam looked back as well. "You want to try exorcising a pack of demons or jumping off a cliff?" Sam asked. He met his brother's eyes. "You have about three second to decide."

"We're not quitters," Dean said. He looked out at the water again. "But we're also not idiots. This jump isn't fatal."

"Unless we hit rocks."

"You'd rather stay and face the demons?"

Sam licked his lips, eyes looking over the edge again. "Seems a little Butch Cassidy and Sundance, doesn't it?" Sam asked.

Dean grinned, wide and real. He'd forgotten Sam's sense of humor; he'd forgotten _Sam_--what it felt like to be a team, to work together in tandem, two equal parts. "Well, at least they survived that jump."

Sam laughed a little. "I was thinking of the ending."

"Oh," Dean said, his brow furrowed. "Well, we never know for sure what happened."

"You want to find out?"

"Hell, yeah," Dean said.

Sam hesitated, pressing his lips together. "Dean, I--"

"Dude, we have a forest full of possessed wildlife after us."

"I'm sorry," he said. "More than you know."

"Yeah, well," Dean said, tousling his hair. "Maybe I'm sorry, too."

There was a noise behind them, louder than a train, and wood creaked. Dean glanced behind him to see the forest shaking with energy, trees falling as the demons approached.

"On the count of three," Dean said. "One, two--"

And before he said three, Dean leapt, pulling Sam with him.

There was a moment of free fall, fresh air assailing his face as they tumbled. The water was coming up fast, and Dean closed his eyes, trying to straighten his body and prepare for impact.

It never came.

Instead, Dean found himself on the ground, his breath still caught in his throat, arms and legs curled in protectively.

It took a long moment before Dean realized he wasn't falling anymore.

Another beat passed before he realized he was still alive. In fact, he was on solid ground.

Unfurling cautiously, he peeked from behind his eyelids. He was back in the charred forest, only the swarm of demons seemed to be gone--probably still charging headlong over a cliff, if Dean's luck was holding out.

Luck was also known as Castiel, his guardian angel on his shoulder. The guy was annoyingly vague and frustratingly absent until the crap hit the fan. Then, Dean's favorite winged jackass seemed to show up without fail. Having the savior of the freakin' world flame out before the final showdown was probably a pretty big screw up.

With a grimace, he pushed to his feet. "You think you could have waited a little longer?" he asked. "You know, like when I was _drowning_?"

"You said you could handle it," Castiel replied, nonplussed, and Dean could detect traces of annoyance in his features.

Dean smirked. "You said it was easy. You didn't say that all the little guys could come together. It was like some whacked out demonic version of Power Rangers or something."

"Dean, we do not have time for this," he said. "You simply needed to finish the exorcism and banish them."

"Yeah, that's easier when they're not trying to kill me," Dean sassed back.

Castiel sighed. "We must set up an area of protection, then," he said. "We must work quickly before they return."

Dean craned his neck. "Speaking of which, where are they? And where's Sam?"

"I assume they are as we left them," he said. "I merely pulled you from the altercation."

The meaning settled over Dean and his chest clenched. "You left them as they were?" he asked, feeling a surge of incredulity and hoping like hell he was wrong about what he thought that could mean.

Castiel shrugged. "I had to prioritize."

"You're an _angel_," Dean said. "If you can pull one falling human out of the air, you can pull two."

With a sigh, Castiel turned to him. "I could not risk the demons following us until we had proper time to prepare. Your lack of preparedness led to this result in the first place. Leaving them as they were was an apt distraction to give us time to regroup."

Dean's stomach dropped. Sam had saved his ass and they had been ready to go out together and now Dean was on solid ground and he had no _idea _was Sam was. Swallowing, he gave a measured nod, hoping that the conclusions he was drawing were wrong. "You used Sam as bait?"

Angel or not, Castiel had gotten better at picking up on the nuances of human emotions. Dean saw a flicker of regret on his face before he drew himself to full height and steeled his gaze against Dean. "It was a small sacrifice," Castiel said. "Your brother has expressed his desire to serve in any way in which he is needed."

"Yeah, and he has," Dean said. "How many times does a guy have to help save the world before he's finally paid his dues?"

"Sam's guilt is not my concern," Castiel returned.

"Yeah, but maybe it should be," Dean snapped. "Since you and your angel buddies seem so content to just hang him out to dry whenever it is convenient for you."

"The fall was not likely fatal," Castiel tried to explain.

"Oh, whatever," Dean said, turning away. He looked over his shoulder. "Is that what you told yourself when you let him down the demon blood? When you guys left that message for Sam on his voicemail? When you set him up to go against Lilith?"

"Sam made his own choices."

"And so did you," Dean said sharply. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to get his mind together. "And you had every chance to help him, and you _didn't_."

"Neither did you," Castiel said.

It was true, and Dean stiffened at the accusation. "Yeah," Dean said. And he remembered accusing Sam of being evil, telling Sam that his little brother was gone, refusing to ask Sam what he needed.

He had been so angry, so hurt, so _tired_, and he just hadn't had the time or the energy to pay attention to it all. He was so focused on how Sam hurt him that he wasn't looking for _why_ Sam was doing it. And the thing was, it should have been so _obvious_. Sam was a total mess, a loss of denial and desperation, and had been ever since Dean died. That didn't make Sam's choices _okay_, but it also didn't justify Sam being hung out to dry. By any of them.

He took a deep breath, looking Castiel steadily in the eyes. That was then. This was now. "And that's not a mistake I plan on making now."

Castiel looked stricken, and Dean could see that the angel was, in fact, afraid. These hunts, no matter how flippantly Dean liked to treat them, were important, and this was a burden Castiel was carrying nearly on his own. There were other rogue angels, but Dean knew their numbers were few. Castiel was many things, but a liar wasn't among them. He had always been honest with Dean, and he had always been honest in his motivations. He wanted to do the right thing, even when that right thing was hard. Even when it required sacrifices.

For that reason alone, Dean couldn't hate him for leaving Sam behind.

But that wasn't enough for Dean to join him. Not until Sam was safe.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Shall we see how Sam is faring? Thank you so much for your kind words and encouragement!

-o-

Being pissed off at Cas was easy enough, and it was even distracting. But as he made his way back toward the river, he was struck with the sudden sense of fear that was pulsing through his body. Almost foreign, but somehow familiar. The uncertainty, the desperation, the concern: the things of _brothers_. They had not been completely forgotten, not even when he'd had Sam locked up in the panic room all on his own; it had still been there.

Yet it was different, now. Acute. Unadulterated. During that year post-Hell, Dean's fear for Sam had been intertwined with his own insecurities, so laden with anger and grief that it was hard to see _Sammy_ beyond the questionable actions his little brother was taking. After all, it was sort of hard to be big brother of the year when he was trying to get his mind around being a torturer turned savior.

Even in the end, when he got to that convent in Maryland, he'd been more afraid of what destruction Sam would cause rather than what it would do to Sam himself.

It had been a slow rebuilding process for both of them since they, snippets of trust, tacit agreements, and Sam's implicit consent and Dean's forced trust to let Sam ride by his side once again. Dean knew it wasn't perfect, knew there was still plenty of things they needed to talk about, things like why Ruby had gotten ahold of Sam, why Sam had changed, why they were still in this together, but it was the _apocalypse_. There were bigger issues, more important things--

Maybe he'd forgotten, though. Forgotten what started this. Forgotten the feeling of Sam's limp body in his arm, the look of Sam's graying skin as he started to decompose on the bed, the sheer desperation of doing _anything _to get him back.

It had been selfish, yes, and Dean would readily admit to that still. But it wasn't _entirely_ selfish. It was about needing his brother. More than life itself, more than his soul: he needed his brother.

He just hadn't realized that sealing that deal would actually cost him the very thing that motivated him to make it in the first place. By saving his brother, he'd managed to lose the inherent love that had made it worthwhile, and he hadn't realized how much he missed it...until now.

For a year, the only times he'd almost lost Sam, he'd been ready to let the kid go. _At least he'll die human. _It was his line in the sand, and so much of him had believed that Sam was beyond hope from the first time he found out that Sam was using his powers until that last moment when he saw Sam turn to Lilith and end the world. Even when he chose Sam, put Sam above everything, even when he sold his soul to the angels and called to make amends, part of him was still ready to accept losing Sam, maybe because he thought he already had.

But he hadn't. He hadn't lost Sam, he hadn't even lost _Sammy_, no matter how often he thought to the contrary. And this hunt proved it. He hadn't even known what was missing until it was back in place: Sam's partnership, not his subservience. Sam's part as an equal player, not as a foot soldier to be ordered around.

Knowing Sam had come back for him, had jumped with him--it brought it all back into focus. Beyond Cas' master plan, beyond the demons' conspiracies, beyond Lucifer himself, _brothers. _Painful and harsh and desperate, Dean felt the feeling gnawing at the growing pit in his stomach; he _needed _his brother. Demon blood, demon's bitch, Lucifer's chosen, Dean's little brother. He couldn't have one without the other, and, in the end, Dean was pretty sure he knew what mattered more than all of that: Sam himself.

Dean had spent his entire life reducing Sam to roles, not even to be cruel, but because that was how life was. He always saw Sam as a function of his environment, as an extension of himself, which is why it had hurt so much to see Sam change without him. Sure, he would love for the kid to start acting a little more like Dean's best friend, but it wasn't Sam's job to be his best friend. It was his job to be his brother and so the kid had fallen down on the job pretty badly a year ago, but, then again, they both had. Dean had needed Bobby to kick him in the pants, and Sam hadn't had anyone to put him back on the straight and narrow.

But destiny was a harsh teacher, and Sam _had _learned his lesson. After all, Sam was here, Sam was by his side. He'd stepped up and helped kill Ruby, and had been following Dean's lead ever since, without question or presumption. Sam was doing everything he could and even if the angels couldn't see it, Dean knew that his brother had more than made up for it.

Dean picked up his pace, feet crashing over the deadened ground. He had just rediscovered his brother, maybe for the first time in a long time, and he couldn't lose him now.

The fear steeled him, and he rediscovered something else. More than a savior of the world, he was a big brother. He could kill Lucifer and none of it would matter if he didn't save Sam.

Then he saw it--the tree stumps dissipated and the horizon expanded before him as he recognized the cliff where he and Sam had made their stand.

Logically, he knew Sam wouldn't be there anymore, not given the time that had passed, but he couldn't stop his heart from lurching in his chest as he skidded to a stop over the edge. He looked down, over the river. It was longer than he remembered, and despite Cas' assurance that the fall probably hadn't been fatal, Dean could see the rocks below. Worse than that, down stream he could see the rapids pick up.

He swallowed hard, his eyes frantically scanning the scene.

There was nothing. Not a demon, not a freakin' possessed bunny, and not a little brother. "Sam!" he called. He looked upstream in desperation and the same desolation scene greeted him. "Sam!"

His own voice echoed back to him in the deadened forest.

For a moment, he thought _this is it_. His despair was vast, if impractical, but he could not deny it. Sam had always been strong, but Dean had to admit, it was less so these days. His brother had withdrawn a lot since Lucifer had been sprung, and his brother's once massive frame seemed like a shadow of its former self. Sam still worked out when Dean prompted him, but getting the kid to eat was a chore that Dean often reduced to guilt trips to simplify it.

So, Sam wasn't in the peak physical condition he once was, and it gave Dean reason enough to doubt that Sam would have the physical prowess to pull himself out of the water.

And he didn't even want to get into the emotional side of it. He'd only caught the kid with a gun in his mouth once, but once was enough, and Dean was wary of the multiple times he'd found Sam in the hands of a demon, thrashed and bloody, doing far too little to defend himself. Dean was all for Sam going clean, but that didn't mean that he liked the idea of his brother being essentially defenseless around a loose demon. There was only one knife, and Dean still carried, and though Sam could rattle off an exorcism from heart pretty quick, it wasn't always quick enough.

Sam wouldn't roll over and die, though. Dean just couldn't believe that. Not after all this.

Dean just had to keep looking. There was a current in the river, and so Sam probably would have been swept downstream. Even if he'd been just fine from the fall, there was no doubt that it would have taken him a ways to make it to shore. Then, from shore, Sam would have had to find a way back up to the ridge.

Which meant Dean had to keep looking.

Running along the cliff, Dean kept one eye keenly on the edge while still keeping an attentive gaze on the water below. Sam had to be _somewhere_. And he couldn't have gotten _that _far, not without divine intervention.

The banks were empty, though. There was nothing except the steady thrum of the river pouring over the rocks.

"Sammy!" he called out. "Sam!"

Then, he heard something that made him pause. Not a voice. Not a human sound. Not even a sound of animals or demons or worse, demonic animals, but--

Dean's stomach bottomed out.

It was a steady rush, a constant and throbbing roar. Squinting ahead, he could make out the river stretching toward the horizon before it just disappeared.

A waterfall.

If Sam hadn't gotten out of the water, he would have gone over. And if Sam had gotten out of the water, Dean would have seen him by now.

Dean gaped for a moment, unable to force his mind into working. Knowing Sam had jumped off a cliff with a horde of demons on his tail was one thing. Thinking that Sam may not have gotten out the water was something else entirely.

Panic flaring in him, he broke into a sprint, running doggedly toward the sound. When he got there, he stumbled to a stop, dumbstruck and horrified.

The waterfall was wide and flush, pounding down hard on the pool in the river beneath it. White foam frothed at its base, swirling with eddies. It might have been beautiful, but Dean was too busy calculating just how dangerous it was to appreciate anything to do with its inherent beauty.

It wasn't as far as he'd feared, but it was far enough. A good 15 feet, and given the roar of the water, powerful enough to do some damage. The force going over the falls would be substantial, and even a good swimmer might be lucky to buoy up on the other end unscathed.

Worse, were the rocks. Speckled on both ends, the jagged ends were foreboding. There was a wide, mostly open gap in the middle, but it would be a crap shoot going over.

Beyond that, Dean couldn't tell how deep it was, but the river didn't slow down for long. The current kept going strong, moving quickly from the base of the falls into a rocky patch of rapids.

All things considered, it was a recipe for disaster. Even if the fall wasn't deadly, it would be disorienting. And if Sam _had_ gone over, he wouldn't have had any time to recover before being pulled through the rapids.

Denial was setting in. It looked hopeless. Jumping off a cliff was one thing, going down stream in heavy rapids was another, but a waterfall? His brother's skills had slipped in recent months, but even in his prime, Dean wasn't sure Sam could have handled _this_ much.

But he had to. Dean had to think the odds could work out in Sam's favor. Even a hundred to one, a _thousand_ to one. _Something._

Then, he saw it. A flicker of movement. A human blur.

Dean had to squint to see it, and he ran closer, calling out his brother's name as he did. There was a faint movement again, and Dean made out the figure curled on the ground. It was just along the edge of the water, and the long legs were still partially submerged in the shallows. Though mostly limp, Dean could see the subtle movements, the labored rise and fall of his brother's chest, clearly visible even from a distance.

The relief that spread through Dean was almost intoxicating, powerful and overwhelming with its sheer weight.

Sam was _alive_.

He'd jumped off a cliff, evaded demons, gone over a waterfall, and _survived_.

The story of Sam's life. No matter what tragedy, no matter what pain, no matter what _mistakes_, Sam just survived. It was almost a cruel reality for his brother, to lose everyone and everything, including himself, and still not be spared _anything_.

And yet, Dean was grateful. He was grateful to still have his brother, to not have to face life without him, to not have to face life knowing he'd failed. Failure was powerful and controlling--failure drove Dean to the crossroads and it had driven Sam to start the end of the world. It was that depth of pain and regret that Dean couldn't face, even when it meant that it would be Sam who suffered that burden in his stead.

Hell had been no picnic--it had been _Hell_--but in the months that had passed, Dean was able to see that his sins were not in the fiery pits, but in that failure to cope. He had grown beyond his torture, taken the trauma of what had happened to him down there and let it strengthen him, and yet, when faced with the prospect of losing his brother, he was still John Winchester's good little soldier, completely incapable of facing failure.

Except that wasn't true. This wasn't about following orders--not anymore. Sam wasn't some innocent to protect. Sam wasn't some little kid in need of coddling. Sam was a grown man, a fallen man, a man who made his own choices and had to face up to them. Dean's job wasn't to be Sam's protector anymore--his calling was far higher.

In that way, maybe Castiel was right.

In so many other ways, Dean just didn't care. It wasn't his job to take care of Sammy. It was his privilege to have brother who, despite everything, he still _loved_, and who still loved him.

A privilege he'd overlooked, one that he'd felt burdened by, hadn't known what to do with. He'd allowed himself to belittle Sam when it made things easier, he'd made Sam take a back seat on the planning. He hadn't trust the kid with the details of hunts, he had refused to allow Sam to lead in any regard. Of course, some of that was justified. Sam's lies and deceit over the last year had made him somewhat less than trustworthy, but it had been months. Months without a single unexplained absence. Months without the slightest lie. Months without a drop of demon blood, a single use of the powers--nothing. Months of Sam's unwavering _obedience_, like he was a second-rate soldier.

It made things easier, but Dean knew it was problematic, because it wasn't Sam. It wasn't even _living_. It was mere existence, and given the number of times Dean ordered the kid to eat, that wasn't even Sam's choice either.

Which was why Dean knew his brother was alive. Dean hadn't given him permission to die, and he trusted Sam in that. And if he could trust Sam to _live_, then maybe it was time to trust his brother in other ways as well.

He had to start by seeing how the kid was. Alive was a relief, but okay was another question entirely.

"Sam!" he called again, begging the lump to move again--something more significant, something more indicative of awareness.

He went closer, eyeing the edge, looking for some way down, while keeping an eye on his brother's limp form.

"Come on, dude," he muttered. "Sam!"

Then, Sam twitched. It was a small movement, almost spastic.

Dean yelled again, encouraged by the results, cupping his hands to his mouth to amplify the sound as best he could. "Sam!"

Sam moved again, drawing his limbs in as he curled slightly to his side.

The movement was a good sign. Dean watched carefully, watched as his brother moved each limb, which meant there were no major breaks. Sam might even be mobile right away, which meant they could hightail it out of there and regroup before the demons got their act together again and found them.'

"Sam!" he called again.

Even from a distance, he could see his brother's face scrunch up, his forehead wrinkling as his eyelids fluttered. Then, with an awkward heaving motion, his brother propped himself up on his hands, his torso swaying a little. Sam shook his head slightly, moving one hand from the ground to his head, as if to clear it.

Dean yelled again, his voice feeling the strain. "Sam!"

Sam looked up at that, squinting painfully into the sunlight as he scanned the ridge where Dean was standing.

Dean waved, calling out again. "Sam, you hear me?"

For a second, their eyes met. He saw Sam smile, and Dean recognized his relief. "Dean!" he yelled back, and his voice sounded weary and strained, but _alive_. "You okay?"

"Dude," Dean called out, unable to contain his grin. "Apparently I can fly!"

He saw Sam sag with it, closing his eyes for a moment, before opening them again. "I didn't know where you were!"

Then Dean got Sam's relief: his brother didn't know Dean had been whisked away. His brother didn't know what happened to him at all. Which was why Sam had never gotten out of the water. He had stayed, searching for him, probably diving beneath the water to pull Dean out.

Only Dean hadn't been there. And Sam had gotten swept downstream and gone over a freakin' waterfall because of it.

Apparently, brotherly devotion wasn't a one-way street anymore. Maybe it never was.

"Touched by an angel, of course," Dean said.

"Castiel?"

"Who else?"

Sam's shoulders seemed to slump and he closed his eyes. Dean couldn't tell what Sam muttered, but the relief on his brother's face was evident.

"So you're okay?" Sam asked.

"I'm not the one who _went over a waterfall_."

"It wasn't quite as bad as you'd think," Sam said.

"Yeah? Was it like being tossed around by a billion tons of water?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam said. "And you can't forget the part about getting tossed into rocks and turned over so many times you don't know which way is up."

"Oh, so pretty run of the mill."

"Well, since not all of us can fly."

Dean's smile widened. The banter was good--it was very good. It just wasn't overly productive. "Can you see a way up?" Dean called down.

Sam squinted, turning his head to peer along the ridge. He looked back at Dean, shading his eyes with his hand. "The cliff slopes out about a half mile down that way!" he called. "It'll still be a hike, but I think I can probably get up."

"Maybe I should come down," Dean offered.

"Don't we still have to get rid of the demons?"

"Cas is working on it," Dean said, hoping it was mostly true.

Sam looked back down toward the path he'd indicated and then looked back at Dean, shaking his head. "Too risky," he called. "You have the exorcism. So you'll need to cover me if they do show up. Besides, we can't get out from down here, can we?"

"And you think I remember how to get out from up here?" Dean asked, nose scrunched.

He saw his brother laugh, and it felt _awesome_. Sam ducked his head for a moment, before squinted upwards again, a grin on his face. "I'm glad you're okay," he yelled. "When I hit the water and you weren't here--"

"Dude, less emo crap," he interrupted. "More climbing. You know, before demonic Bambi and Thumper make an appearance."

Sam offered him a lopsided grin, moving slowly toward the rocky incline. Movement would be slow, Dean was sure, especially with the heavy wet clothes. The kid moved gingerly, and Dean could only guess that the trip down the river had left Sam more than a little bruised.

But that wasn't going to stop Sam. His brother was already making his way up, stepping carefully over the rocks, using his hands to balance himself.

Then Dean heard it. Quiet and distant, but Dean recognized it. The steady buzzing, the sound of a hundred voices, distinct but still talking as one.

His heart skipped a beat as he looked up, squinting back toward the forest. There was nothing there, except a cloud of dust, raising far on the horizon line.

But not far enough.

The demons were on the move, which wasn't a good sign. Dean couldn't be sure they were coming for him, but it was a good bet. Dean was the immediate threat. As self aware as the swarm may have been, they were still pretty limited in the scope of their originality. They would destroy one threat before taking on another.

He turned his eyes back to Sam. "You think you can hurry up?" he called.

Sam paused. "Why?"

"Because I think we got company," Dean told him.

The meager humor that had laced Sam's features dissipated. "The demons?"

"They're a ways out, but I think they're coming our way," Dean told him. There was a crash and a roar, louder than Dean expected. He turned his head back toward the horizon, and cursed.

They were out of time. The herd was closer than Dean had anticipated, and Dean's angelic host apparently hadn't quite made it back in time to help out with the encore.

He looked back at Sam, who was still pulling himself up the steep incline. Sam had picked up the pace, moving steadily up the side of the cliff, but it was still slow enough to be problematic.

On the incline, Sam was completely vulnerable. The kid needed both hands to pull himself up and while Sam would probably be able to recite an exorcism or two from memory, Dean doubted they would be the right ones.

He was just going to have to do it himself. He had hoped to set up a bit more, to lay out some devil traps to at least give them a bit more leeway. But his focus had been on Sam, and it was too late for any of that now.

He looked back at his brother, who met his eyes. Dean understood without asking--Sam's tacit consent to do what needed to be done. At any cost.

_Not at any cost. Not this time._

Hurriedly, he dug through his pack, finding some salt and the exorcism. He was about to pour a circle of salt around him, with the ground shook and the buzz surged.

Looking up, the pack was moving quickly on the horizon line, headed straight toward them.

Which was really not good. Even if Dean had time to lay down a ring of salt for himself, Sam would be vulnerable.

Hesitating, Dean looked back at his brother. "Sammy, we've got demons heading our way. Can you get to cover?"

Sam gave the surrounding area a look, turning his gaze back to Dean. "I don't really have much leverage here."

"Just someplace for a ring of salt--something," Dean called down.

"Dean, you need to focus."

"I am focused!"

"On the demons," Sam said. "They're coming and you're the one with the exorcism."

It was logic, yes, but it only veiled the self-sacrifice. Sam would never put himself above the mission. Especially not now.

And Dean wasn't sure he could either, no matter how much he wanted to.

Looking back at the horizon, the pack was closer, moving steadily, almost as if they were chasing something.

And then he realized who they were chasing.

Dean swore again.

Castiel was moving at a fast pace, storming steadily out of the decimated forest.

Dean didn't have a choice. The angel was leading them straight here, no questions asked. There wasn't even time for the salt--just time to start reading and hope that Cas could pull out some freaky angel crap to give him the time he needed.

The Latin, even from a distance, had an immediate impact. The horde shuddered, an inhuman groan howling into the sky. It regained quickly, pulling toward him quickly.

Determined, Dean held his ground, keeping his Latin steady.

The roar of the animals grew furious and hysterical and it was all Dean could do to keep from ducking.

Castiel was closer now, and Dean could make out the grim determination on his face.

Trusting the angel was still hard after all this time, especially when he was bringing in a host of demonic animals on his tail. But Castiel wouldn't act without a plan--would he?

Dean shifted uncomfortably, glancing backward for a brief second, while he kept the exorcism going.

As they closed in, Dean tensed, curling in on himself. Castiel stopped short of him, turning abruptly to face them, and Dean couldn't help but duck as the leading edge, complete with charging buffalo and raging bear, came at him with a ravenous roar that he felt down to his boots.

The charge, however, stopped short of Castiel, the demons crashing into each other. The front line twittered as the ones behind fell into formation, just beyond Castiel's reach.

Mouth open, Dean could only stare. It was quite a sight. Over two hundred animals, with deep black eyes, pulsing just mere _feet _from where Dean was standing.

All in all, it was a pretty cool trick. "Why didn't you tell me you could do that before?" Dean snapped.

Castiel looked back at him, nonplussed. "You didn't ask."

"So the fact that I was nearly killed by these guys earlier meant nothing you."

"I was unsure how long I could maintain this type of diversion."

"Wait--what?" Dean asked. "You can't hold this forever?"

Castiel grimaced. "It is quite taxing."

"You're an _angel_. And I thought you said these guys wouldn't be a problem." 

"Dean, do you wish to relive the misjudgments on both our parts or finish this hunt before they overwhelm my defenses."

As fun as getting mauled by a demonic bear sounded, living sounded a little better.

"Dean!" Sam's voice called from below.

Looking over the edge, Dean gave his brother a thumb's up. "We're cool up here, Sam, just keep climbing."

Sam didn't seem to believe him, but Dean didn't have time for it. "Cas here is going to zap these demons into submission." He turned his eyes back to Castiel. "Aren't you?"

"One demon is not problematic," Castiel explained. "But the sheer number of them is more than I am capable of defeating."

"So why don't you zap us out of here?" Dean asked. "_All _of us."

"If you would not come to the battle, I had to bring the battle to you," Castiel said. "This is a fight we must wage, and one we must win."

"You set me up? You knew I had to get Sam out."

"You are missing the point," Castiel told him, his voice hitching a little. "They are ready to move beyond this portion of the woods. Their threat to the world is imminent. While we can escape, our failure to stop them here would result in mass casualties."

Castiel's apocalyptic logic was as sound as it had ever been, and it pissed Dean off. Logical and calculating--Castiel liked everything to make sense, to line all his ducks up in a row--even if they purposefully left Sam _out_.

"Dean," Castiel's voice cut harshly over the roar. His voice was heavily strained now, and his face looked pained. "You must finish the exorcism."

"How long can you hold them?"

Castiel grimaced, the animals sidling up against an invisible barrier. They were frothing at the mouth now, eyes pitch black, mouths moving. "A few minutes, maybe more."

"I still don't get why you didn't mention this before, you know, when you were telling me how _easy_ it would be."

"Our intelligence was not as accurate as I would have hoped. I was not sure of their true nature until I faced them."

"You really might want to do a little bit more research before these things," Dean said. "Just so we actually _know_ what we're doing."

The animals craned their heads, one after another, and the voice from them rose again. "We are Legion," they said.

"Yeah, yeah, I got that part," Dean muttered. "Let me guess, you are one, right?"

"Go," Castiel said tersely. "Quickly, I cannot hold them indefinitely and you are wasting time."

A bear surged against the barrier, hissing as he did so, and Dean could see the size of the thing's teeth.

He didn't need any more incentive.

Fumbling for the papers, he found his starting place. With a breath, he glanced at the animals, and it was all the resolve he needed.

It was faster than he remembered, though not having to fend off attacks probably helped. He just needed to focus and to read and trust Cas to get him through this--to get _them _through this. He spared a glance over his shoulder, where Sam was still making slow progress up the incline. Just a little longer and they could all go home.

A howl broke out, and the animals convulsed. "You can stop one," they said. "But you cannot stop all. We are Legion. We will destroy."

Castiel cried out, his outstretched arm wavering. "You must hurry," he called. "I cannot hold them longer."

Mouth dry, Dean chanted faster, his lips tripping over the ancient language. He let it flow, feeling its power throb in the air, building and building--

And then the air cracked. Castiel stumbled into him, and Dean didn't have time to catch his footing. In horror, Dean watched the swarm converge, a perfectly crafted sphere, moving in tandem and coming right at them.

Dean ducked instinctively, and he felt Castiel pull himself over him, covering him. There was a thundering sound and the ground quaked before the squeals of animals and the thumping of flesh on flesh overtook him.

For a moment, it was a blur of sound and sensation, too fast and furious to even fully comprehend. Dean's heart pounded in his ears and his breath caught painfully in his lungs and he wondered briefly if he might die.

But then, it was over.

Castiel moved, cautiously, and Dean found himself blinking up into the sunlight.

"They are gone," Castiel informed him.

Pushing to his feet, Dean stared out over what was left of the cliff. It had crumbled away, whole sections missing now, and when Dean peered down, he could see animal carcasses spread across the floor of the river canyon.

"They're dead," Dean said. He looked to Castiel, wide eyed.

The angel nodded gravely. "The demons did not want to leave without a fight," he said. "The loss will disrupt the ecosystem, but not overturn it. It is an acceptable victory."

Dean wasn't a tried and true tree hugger, but it was still kind of hard to see. Moose and buffalo and _bunnies_--

Then Dean realized what was missing. His stomach bottomed out and his mouth went dry. "Oh, no, Sam!" he called, looking over the rocks. "Sam!"

The incline was changed now, littered with new rocks, both large and small. A few small animals were caught among the wreckage, partially squashed by the slide.

But, more than that, Sam was _gone_.

Just like that. One second, Sam was scaling the side of the cliff. The next, the rocks had swallowed him whole.

Time stood still. All Dean could do was stare out over the marred landscape. The incline was covered now, the haphazard path Sam had scoped out completely gone. The boulders from the cliff's edge were varied in size, from small debris to large boulders. If Sam had gotten crushed by one of the larger ones--

Dean wouldn't think it. He couldn't.

"Sam!" he yelled.

Stumbling forward, he stepped down cautiously, testing the rock. When it didn't skid, he moved down another one. "Sammy!"

He scaled faster now, loose rock sliding out from under his feet. For a second he thought he might trigger a second slide, but the rocks stood steady. Dean should have stopped probably--this wasn't safe for him or for Sam--but stopping meant not helping Sam. And not helping Sam just wasn't an option.

He skidded further, losing his footing and landing hard on his backside. Tears burned at the back of his eyes, and he gritted his teeth against him, pushing back to his feet desperately. He was tripping forward this time when a pair of hands stopped him.

Dean didn't have to look to know who it was.

Castiel held him fast, restraining him as Dean pulled hard to get away.

"Dean, we must--"

Dean thrashed against him, shoving hard at the angel and staring him down venomously. "We must do _nothing_," he seethed. "Except help my brother."

He could see the argument flash through Castiel's eyes, the reminder about the greater good, the incessant big picture of saving the world. Dean had been swayed by it before, time and time again. He'd let himself believe it when they'd locked Sam up the first time, when he'd let Castiel keep Sam out of the top secret meetings, when he'd ordered Sam around on a need-to-know basis.

That bigger picture--it was _crap_, because Sam may have been in it, but he didn't matter, and everyone knew it. _Especially _Sam. He was tired of seeing Sam's eyes look as lifeless as though he were dead. Sam _deserved_ more than that, and that was the thing worth fighting for the most.

Castiel's features settled, and Dean saw the hardness of his countenance soften for the first time in a long time. Dean remembered the Castiel he used to know, the one who empathized with humans and regretted the tough choices he had to make. War did funny things to people and angels alike, and if ever Dean needed Cas to remember what got the angel in this position to begin with, it was now.

"His time is short," Castiel said finally. "His body is in mortal peril."

Dean's heart skipped a beat. "Where is he? Can you get him out?"

"It would require me to move the entire landscape," Castiel said.

"Then move the entire freakin' landscape," Dean demanded. "Move the entire freakin' mountain for all I care."

"It could make the situation worse, cause another slide--"

"What exactly are you trying to say here, Cas?"

"I cannot retrieve him," Castiel said.

Dean's jaw tightened. There was no use arguing with Castiel's _mysterious ways_ nonsense. He had to appeal to the vestiges of humanity Castiel had never been able to deny. "No," he said. "But you sure as hell can help."

The angel looked confused. "But how?"

Leaning forward, Dean pulled at a rock. "Use that freaky angel strength and start moving. You don't want to shift the entire thing--fine. We'll do it the old-fashioned way. One rock at a time."

Dean grunted, throwing a rock out of the way. It was a drop in the bucket, and he tried not to look at the pile in front of him. But his heart was pounding and his mind was racing, and all he could think was that Sam was under there somewhere and he was _still alive_, and Dean didn't want Sam to die a monster and he didn't want Sam to die human--he just didn't want Sam to die _at all_.

With effort, he levered another rock out of the way, a rivulet of sweat trickling down his back. His muscles groaned with the strain, but he didn't stop. Sam hadn't stopped. Sam had let Lucifer out and still hadn't stopped. Sam had gotten tossed over a waterfall and hadn't stopped. Dean might quit some things, but he wouldn't quit this.

The next rock was harder, large and cumbersome. He strained, trying to pull it, but it barely shifted before clattering back into place. Dean tried again, biting down hard as his entire body trembled with the weight.

He couldn't do it. Panting, he dropped the rock, leaning his head forward, feeling tendrils of panic taking root. He was so close to Sam, so close to really making things _right _with Sam again, and he didn't have the strength. It wasn't fair. It _wasn't fair_.

A sob caught in his throat, unbidden and unexpected. Another followed, and he felt himself caving, and he didn't stop it. It hurt worse than Hell. It hurt worse than the end of the world. It felt worse than breaking the first seal, all on his own.

_This_ was his purpose. Not the one God had given him, not even the one his father had left him with. But the one he chose for himself: being a brother. It wasn't about being the savior, it wasn't about being God's so-called warrior, it was _this_. Sam's brother. The one thing he wanted to fight for, and there was nothing he could do to earn that title back. Not with Sam buried under heavy rock.

Dean had lost. He could redeem his soul, he could save the world, but Dean had lost everything. And it wasn't just that Sam might die, though Dean knew it was probable; it was that his brother might die before Dean had the chance to apologize, before Dean had a chance to set things right between them. He'd been so good at telling Sam how wrong the kid was that he'd completely overlooked his own role in it and it _couldn't _be too late.

He attacked the rock again, desperate and with every ounce of strength he had. He _would _do this. He would do this for Sam, for himself, for both of them.

He labored and sweated, cursed and grunted, and fell slack against the rock. Gutted, he screamed, "Sammy! Sammy, answer me!"

It wouldn't do much good, but it was all he had. Maybe if he had some kind of direction, knew better where to dig. Sam could have been moved by the rocks, swept downhill with them. If Sam could talk to him, give him some kind of clue--

He pounded hard against the rock, moving from it to another, scrabbling at the smaller ones, trying to clear any path he could. It was reckless and haphazard, and Dean knew on some level that it could do more harm than good, but it didn't matter. He had to do something, because sitting around doing nothing was worse than dying.

Then, someone touched him.

Dean flinched, turning to face Castiel, fist pulled back. "If you're not going to help, leave me alone," he spat.

"Dean," Castiel said emphatically. "You must listen."

"I don't want to listen to you, you--"

"No, _listen_," Castiel said again, inclining his head to the hillside.

His mouth was open with another threat, and then, he heard it.

Distant but screaming: "Dean!"

Dean's eyes widened. "Sammy!" he called back, scrambling down the hill toward his brother's voice. "Sam, where are you?"

He was vaguely aware that Castiel was following this time, gracefully stepping down the rocks after Dean.

Dean paused, trying to listen again, and Sam's voice came back, muted and tired. "Buried," he called. "I...it's too dark!"

Of course it was dark, Sam was trapped under rocks. But Dean needed some kind of sign, some kind of indication where his brother was. "Just keep talking, dude," Dean said. "I'm trying to narrow in on your location."

Dean scaled down further, rocks skittering in front of him. He listened as he moved, finally stopping his trek to listen more carefully. "Sammy?"

There was a lull and only the empty sound of the mountain echoed back at him.

Dean felt his heart rate pick up. "Come on, Sammy, you answer me! Don't make me find you just to kick your ass."

"Dean," came the reply, and it was weary and far too obedient. Sam was weak, that much was certain, and it occurred to Dean that Sam was still following his orders without question.

The knowledge made him ache, but he had to use it. One last time, he would use it for all it was worth, and then he would make it right again. "That's it, kiddo," Dean called back. "I think I'm getting closer. I need you to stay awake, though, okay?"

"You better...hurry," Sam's voice came and Dean could hear the letters slurring.

Dean wished momentarily that Sam was still a liar.

Fear nearly choking him, Dean picked up his pace. "Keep talking, Sammy," he yelled out. "Give me a sign."

"I'm still...here." Sam's reply was weaker, and it was hard to tell if Dean was closer or further away.

Dean licked his lips, eyes scanning the expanse. It wasn't like finding a needle in a haystack, but it was hard enough, and the stakes were far higher.

Castiel touched lightly by him. "Where do you suggest we dig?"

Dean wished he had an answer. He could remember a time when it would have just come to him, out of instinct. When he could have just _known_. When Sam's soul was just a part of him, plain and simple. He could sense his brother, he knew his brother's every move, he would just _know_.

Then, there was a shifting. Down hill, far enough that Dean was sure it wasn't him. A light scattering of rocks trickled to the riverbank before settling still again.

"Did you see that?" Dean asked.

"Yes," the angel replied.

"I'll be damned," Dean muttered, because that was what was missing. Not just Dean's failure to reach out, but Sam's willingness to reach back. It took two to do this, and it was about time they both got on the same page.

And there was no time like the present.

"Hang on, Sammy!" he yelled again, moving faster now, zeroing in on the movement.

Sam made no reply, but this time, he didn't have to. The spot was clear in Dean's head, and when he was there, he knew it, just _knew _it.

Panting, Dean swiped a hand across his brow, before pulling a rock away, flinging it down the rest of the incline. It clattered uselessly toward the river, and Dean didn't hesitate to jerk the next one free.

He was vaguely aware that Castiel was next to him, and together they began clearing the rocks. It was deeper than Dean had hoped, but the rocks were oddly matched, leaving gaps and crevices, which boded well for Sam's overall well-being. Being trapped amongst a ton of rocks was one thing--being partially crushed would likely be fatal.

"We're almost there," Dean called out as he labored. "Just a little longer. Stay awake just a little longer."

Dean saw a snatch of Sam's shirt, first. The blue plaid was dirty and ripped, but it was _Sam_.

Encouraged, Dean pulled harder, working at a rock just above the opening. When it crashed to the side, Sam's chest was visible, and one of his arms. There was a little blood, but it looked reassuringly intact.

"I see you," Dean breathed out. "I see you, Sammy."

He worked at the next rock, the one presumably over his brother's face. Castiel had to help him, but together they wrenched it free, and Dean crashed on his haunches, panting to catch his breath, and his eyes watered with relief.

For his part, Sam barely seemed to notice. His brother's eyes were slits, blinking lazily in the sunlight as a new trickle of blood snaked away from Sam's nose.

Dean wouldn't think of it. He'd _found _Sam in all the ways that counted. He'd followed Sam over a cliff, down a river, over a waterfall, and under a rock slide, and that _had _to be enough.

Reaching down, Dean cupped his brother's face. The action seemed to rouse Sam a little, until his eyes rested on Dean's face and a smile flitted weakly across his face.

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it, trying to swallow. When it didn't work, he winced, trying to open his eyes just enough to hold eye contact for a little longer. "Hey," he said. "You said...stay awake."

"Damn straight I did," Dean said. "And don't think now that I've found you that it's time to take a nap. I need someone to keep me some company while I drag your heavy ass out of here."

Sam's eyes wandered, landing on Castiel, who was hovering right behind Dean. "You've got company," he murmured. "You don't need me."

Sam's eyes drifted at that, his head lolling a little.

Dean stopped it, putting one hand roughly on Sam's cheek. "I mean _good _company, little brother," he said.

That got Sam's attention, and the kid opened his eyes, for a second as clear as they'd ever been. "Been a long time," Sam said.

"Since what?"

"Since you thought of me like that," Sam told him. Then his eyes unfocused and his breath hitched. He blinked and sought Dean's face once more. "Sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Dean said roughly. "Just--stay awake. Sam? Sammy, please."

Sam held his gaze, eyes glazed, before the look zoned out. Then Sam's body relaxed, head lolling against the rock beneath it.

"No," Dean said, reaching down to shake Sam. "_No_."

But it was an order Sam couldn't follow, and his brother remained limp.

A sob choked Dean, and he felt himself tremble. "Sammy?" he asked. "Sam?"

"He's alive, Dean," Castiel's voice said over his shoulder. "But his time is short."

It took all of his resolve to put his brother down, moving toward the rock across Sam's legs. "Help me get this off him," he said, bending down, his fingers grappling at the rock.

It was large, and he felt his muscles strain with the effort. Castiel was next to him, and Dean felt the burden lift and the rock shifted. It took some maneuvering, but the large stone lifted. Repositioning himself, Dean moved under it, pushing upwards with his arms to move it off his brother. With Castiel's help, the rock moved free, and with one final shove, they sent the large rock hurtling down the incline.

Breathing hard, Dean turned back to his brother. Sam was free now, but he didn't move, his long legs limp, one turned funny at the ankle and blood staining the other. There were no other visible signs of injury, but Dean couldn't be sure of anything--internal injuries, spinal risks, head trauma--the list was endless and far too likely. Sam hadn't reported much specific pain, but his brother hadn't been overly coherent all.

Which meant moving Sam was a risk--a big one. But leaving Sam here might be an even bigger one.

Dean didn't know. Dean could play savior, Dean could destroy demons. Dean might even be able to kill Lucifer, but if he couldn't save Sam--

If Sam died thinking Dean hated him--

If Sam died right when they started being _brothers_ again--

A sob rose in his throat and it shook him hard before it turned to anger. In a rage, he turned to Castiel. "_Do _something," Dean said, feeling a bit hysterical. If he'd ever needed divine intervention this was it, right _now._

"This is beyond my capability," Castiel said.

It was the typical excuse. Dean should have predicted it. Probably did. But he had refused to imagine it was possible. Not with so much on the line--not with _Sam_ on the line.

He was on his feet, in the angel's face, staring him down, closer than he normally dared to get. He could count Castiel among his small circle of friends, but this level of familiarity was entirely different. But there was no time for formalities. There wasn't even time for respect. Sam was dying, and Castiel _was_ going to do something about if Dean had to pluck his damn wings, confiscate the halo, and do it himself.

"You pulled me from Hell without a scratch on me," Dean said. "You can pull people out of thin air. You _can _fix this."

Castiel swallowed, but kept his head high. "I cannot."

"That's crap, and you know it," Dean roared. "My brother has worked his ass off in the name of your holy pursuit, which, in case you forgot, is what started this whole freakin' mess to begin with. I take your missions, I follow your orders, and now I'm _telling _you, that you _will _help Sam."

Castiel shifted, his eyes darting away momentarily. "I speak the truth when I tell you that I cannot heal him," the angel explained. "But I will do what I can."

With that, Castiel stepped by him, dropping down beside Sam. "Get close," he ordered. "Hold onto your brother's hand."

Confused, Dean did as he was told, trying not to look at his brother. Sam was colorless on the ground, his hair matted by the gash along his forehead. A smear of fresh blood stained his lips, smudged onto his chin, and Dean felt himself stiffen at what he knew that indicated.

But there was no time to contemplate it. Just as Dean was going to ask Castiel what was going on, a white light roared, and Dean cursed, fingers tightening on his brother's hand, closing his eyes as the air was sucked out from around him.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks to those who stuck with me on this. I actually have quite a bit of other pre-S5 fic I need to be posting here in the next week, so I needed to get this one up. I hope the ending here is satisfactory :) Thanks again to geminigrl11 for the beta, sendintheclowns for organizing the exchange, smth_blue for the art (on my LJ!), and spoilerwolf for the prompt (included at th end).

-o-

It was a short trip, but not short enough. The instantaneous nature of it undoubtedly gave Sam a fighting chance, but as Dean barged through the emergency room doors, Sam's body slack in his arms, he realized how little of a guarantee that was.

It didn't take more than five seconds for an entire medical team to converge on them, lowering Sam onto a gurney, cutting away his clothing while the doctor pelted him with questions.

Age, name, cause of injury.

They had all looked at him a little funny when he told them about jumping off a cliff, a trip over a waterfall, and a rock slide.

Dean shrugged awkwardly. "Camping trip from Hell," he muttered. "What can I say?"

Dean didn't even have the energy to think about how they would have responded to the details about the black-eyed buffalo.

The incredulity was overshadowed by Sam's condition, however, and as a monitor wailed, a doctor cursed, and the team returned its attention to Sam's prone body.

"Sir, I need you to wait outside," someone was telling him, a hand on his arm.

Dean just shook his head, too busy watching as a doctor threaded a tube down his brother's throat while a nurse hooked up an IV.

"Sir, _please_," the voice said again, more insistently this time.

But all that mattered was Sam and the sudden sound of the heart monitor flatlining, resounding heavily in his ears.

"We're losing him."

"Start compressions."

He was being pulled now, almost forcibly, but Dean couldn't budge, not even if he had wanted to. Because he was watching his brother _die_. He was standing there, watching his brother die. Someone was administering compression. Someone was squeezing air into Sam's lungs. And Dean was standing there, just watching as his brother's life slipped away.

And it struck him as ironic that it took him this long to notice. Sam had been slowly slipping away for weeks, months, _years_. Since he got back from Hell, since he made the deal, since Jess died, since he was eight years old and learned that everything in his life had been a _lie_.

There were no lies now. Everything was laid bare between them, with the harsh clarity Dean had always thought he wanted. It was as clear as the stillness of Sam's heart, as painful as the doctors working to save his brother's life.

What was left of it, anyway.

When Dean found himself in the waiting room, his head cradled in his hands, Dean wondered what deals he would make to fix this mess.

-o-

Sam was alive.

It was the only thing the doctors had told him that had mattered. His brother had survived the surgery. He was on the critical list, and they would just have to wait and see, but Sam was alive.

It was a cold comfort, more so because Dean remembered a time when that had mattered more than anything. He remembered a time he would have sold his soul to bring his brother back....

Now, Dean couldn't be so sure. Protecting his brother was part of his life, part of who he was, but it was a question now of what he was protecting Sam from: from the world, or from himself.

He had considered letting Sam die once. For Sam's own sake. For the world's. _At least he'll die human_.

Standing in Sam's hospital room, watching his brother, he wondered now how he could have ever thought that way.

Sam had done horrible things. Sam had lied to him. Sam had killed and been deceived. Sam had brought about the end of the world.

But Sam was still his brother. His little brother.

And he did look young. The weariness of the current situation was gone in the lax features, and Dean could recognize the little brother he'd sold his soul for. Somewhere beneath the medical equipment, somewhere beyond the worn edges of his brother's current life, that person still existed. Dean knew that, now more than ever. That was the Sam who had come back for him during the hunt. Who had followed every order except the one that might cost Dean his life. That was the Sam who had jumped off a cliff, gone over a water, gotten crushed in a rock slide, just because he believed in _Dean_.

It was too much to think about. Too much to process. Sam had hurt him so badly, Sam had screwed up so badly--so how did that reconcile with the kid who was lying in a hospital bed after fighting by Dean's side?

It was a hard truth Dean wasn't ready for: that maybe Sam wasn't the only one with something to atone for.

And not just for this hunt, because as whacked out as it was, what went down had not been entirely Dean's fault. But he had contributed to it, by keeping Sam in the dark. He had done it for Sam's safety and for his own, to keep Sam out of trouble, and effectively keep Sam living with doubt. That was what it did, after all. By not trusting Sam, Sam didn't trust himself. Dean didn't call him a monster or a freak outright, but he didn't have to. Sam got the message all the same. Hell, Dean could see it in Sam's eyes every time he accepted an order. Not because he didn't question it, but because his brother believed he didn't have a _right _to question it.

There was a fine line there, of course. Dean's mistrust was natural--to a point. Sam had turned to Ruby, after all, and managed to let himself be blinded by his own damn pride to start the apocalypse. It wasn't quite monstrous, but it was pretty damn close.

But monsters didn't have to act on it. That was the lesson Dean had resisted for so long, the lesson Sam had pushed Dean to see back in Carthage. It applied here, too. Sam had proved himself worthy on the hunt. That didn't mean Sam was infallible, but it did mean that Dean couldn't keep the kid caged forever. Not without risking the consequences.

And Sam in a hospital bed was a not a consequence he wanted to deal with. He missed his _brother_. By keeping Sam as his inferior, Dean would never get Sam back.

Of course, unless Sam woke up, Dean might still never get Sam back.

The thought was hard to take, and it drove him to sit down heavily in the chair by Sam's side. When he looked up again, he took in Sam's appearance and felt ill.

The injuries were clear. The gash on Sam's head was neatly stitched and bandaged. There was a bruise on his cheek, running along his cheekbone. There was a cast on Sam's right foot, running part way up his calf, making a lumpy impression under the covers. Dean could see the large bandage on the other leg, too, wrapped tightly around the long line of stitches that ran up his left calf and stopping just above his knee.

What was harder to see was the surgical scar, but Dean knew it was there. A neat row of stitches for the exploratory surgery, and Dean would never see the internal sutures, but he could almost feel each one as though they were his own.

And in all of that, it was still the knock on the head that was causing the biggest question mark. There was some swelling in Sam's brain, and his brother was mostly in a coma, complete with intubation tube and all.

Dean had seen Sam hurt before. But over the last few years, his brother had seemed invincible. Maybe it was the demon blood, maybe it was Sam's blind insistence to do it himself, maybe it was just how weak Dean felt in contrast--maybe it was just the fact that Sam had _survived_ everything else.

But Sam was barely surviving now. And that wasn't just the physical injuries. It was everything. Dean had to be honest: Sam was wasting away. The surgery, the swelling in his brain--it didn't mean _anything_. Sam was dying emotionally and probably had been for months, for _years_, and there was no medical miracle to fix that.

Dean wasn't sure how long he sat there, but it was long enough. The minutes ticked by with the steady cadence of Sam's heart, and Dean listened to every one and wondered what it was worth. When the air rustled behind him, he didn't even look up.

Dean couldn't stop Castiel from being here, but he had no use for the angel. Not now. Not with this.

A moment passed before the angel asked, "How is he?"

"Crappy," Dean said flatly, not looking up. "They think they got the internal bleeding under control, but not before he went into shock and flatlined. Twice. Now they're just waiting to see if his body can hold together long enough to recover or if everything will just fall apart anyway."

It was a harsh truth. The doctors had presented it far more gently, but Dean knew what it meant. Sam was teetering on the brink, and while medical intervention had him tethered to the land of the living, it wasn't by much, and if Sam tipped too far away, there would be nothing they could do to bring him back.

Which brought Dean back to one painful truth: it could all be too little, too late.

Those were words he'd flung at Sam before, in the wake of their father's death. They had been words he'd thought about watching Sam grieve Lucifer's rise. It was easy to see the right thing when all was said and done. Too bad it never made a difference. Sam could regret fighting with their father, but he could never tell their dad just how much he loved him. Sam could hate himself for trusting Ruby and downing demon blood, but he couldn't send Lucifer back to the pit or get rid of all the blood entirely.

No, the first was Dean's job. And the second was an issue for another day.

Sometimes, Dean liked his _I told you so_'s. He'd earned them, after all.

Watching Sam in the hospital bed, barely clinging to life, he didn't want them at all anymore. Because all of a sudden, he knew the feeling. He knew what it was like to be too little, too late, and he would give _anything _to make it better.

It had taken long enough, but he finally understood. Sam had wronged him. Sam had wronged the _world_. And even if Dean did feel like he had a right to tell Sam _I told you so_, the time had come and gone. He'd spent so much time being angry, that he forgot why Sam did it. He'd overlooked how much Sam had changed.

He'd forgotten how much he needed Sam. How much he _wanted_ his brother back. He had thought it was Sam's shortcomings that kept them apart, but, all these months later, it was Dean who was keeping his brother at bay. If he wanted his brother back, if he wanted things to feel like they were back when things were simple, back before the apocalypse and demon blood and Hell, he had to let Sam move beyond it all.

Looking back, he could see it now. The conversations he'd refused to have. The side comments that he'd made. None of that made Sam's choices _okay_, but they weren't _right _either. Sometimes they could both be as wrong as they were right, and just because Sam fell harder didn't mean that Dean hadn't taken a dive of his own.

He sighed, looking at his brother again. It was so _wrong_.

"His soul is weary," Castiel noted.

Dean glowered at him, wondering why the angel was still here. "Like that's a surprise."

Castiel shifted, his eyes flickering down for a moment. When he met Dean's gaze again, his lips were slightly pursed. "We need to talk."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "I'm a little busy here."

"Please, Dean," Castiel implored. "This is important."

At that, Dean laughed straight out. "Important, huh? More important than this?"

Castiel had the good sense to be adequately chagrined.

"Besides," Dean said, his eyes drifting to Sam once again. "Sam's unconscious. He's not going to screw up your master plan when he's in a damn coma."

"I do not think this is an appropriate place," Castiel said.

"Well, I don't really think this is an appropriate time," Dean snapped back, turning his eyes to Castiel. "So why don't you just leave me the Hell alone."

He held the angel's gaze a moment longer, intense, almost daring Castiel to test him on this.

Castiel did not speak, did not move, and Dean let his eyes go back to Sam. "I'm not leaving him right now. Not until...not until he's okay."

Dean didn't hear Castiel leave, but he didn't have to. He hear the faint rustle of wings, and when the nurse came in to check on them a few minutes later, there was no one else there. Just him and Sam, the way it once was, the way it always should have been.

-o-

It was hard to think about, but it was hard not to think about it. How they'd gotten here.

Not just the demons and the rock slide. But the entire thing, starting with Lucifer rising, and before. With the lies, the demon blood, the memories of Hell, and a contract Dean couldn't escape.

And more. Of a night in Cold Oak when Dean's world ended.

He had told himself he was buying Sam a second chance, but it wasn't true. He was buying one for himself. A second chance at being a big brother, a second chance at fulfilling his duty.

Funny thing: he failed again.

He'd forgotten to remember who Sam was. He'd forgotten to see his brother as a _person_. He'd forgotten that Sam was still looking for his second chance to save Dean and hadn't found that either.

Hell, if anyone could understand Sam, it was him. The blind desperation that could break a man was nothing to scoff at. Not even after forty years of soul-rending torture.

They'd both squandered their second chances. The angels had granted them a do-over and Dean had been too tied up with Hell to remember what his brother had gone through, and Sam had been so set on making amends to see what his sins were costing. Dean could make a list of all the wrongs, point all the fingers he wanted, but it didn't change that they'd had a _chance_.

Or had they? With angels pulling the strings and demons pushing them around, they seemed more like cosmic puppets, rising and falling at the whims of others.

It was destiny that Dean now clung to and pushed away in equal measures. He believed the prophecies about him, almost out of necessity. After all, he could remember Hell, he could remember _breaking_ in Hell, and there was a consequence to that he needed to make right. If the cosmic forces wanted to give him that chance, he would believe it--for them and for himself.

But belief didn't mean he would cow to their demands. Dean bucked the system just to prove he could. As though determining the exorcism on his own somehow made it his hunt, and not theirs. It was a tentative balance, and sometimes he felt like Pinnochio, part puppet and part boy, with a total hard-on for his own independence.

But Sam--the brother who had fought and rebelled and questioned--was taking to the part doled out to him with the alacrity of a condemned man. As though Sam believed his choices didn't matter.

Then Dean realized that maybe they didn't. How much choice had Sam had? When the universe was stacked against him, how much was free will and how much was just impossible circumstance? How much was a brother who had lost _everything_ and couldn't fathom what else there could be to sacrifice until it was far too late?

Dean had found his purpose; he had started living again, started hunting again, with the angels' mixed blessings.

Sam had lost his and no one cared. Worse, the angels, Dean--they all seemed content on keeping Sam from finding anything to live for.

Without something to live for, dying was gain.

The thought was cold in Dean's stomach as he watched his brother on the hospital bed. The doctors said Sam was fighting--but fighting to live or fighting to die?

Some failures were acceptable. Others were not. Dean could survive Hell. He couldn't survive losing his brother. That was the lesson of Cold Oak, painful and true. And it was a lesson he didn't want to learn again.

-o-

When Sam woke up, it was less than Dean had thought it would be. The glimmer in recognition in Sam's eyes was not the relief it should have been. The warm reassurance from the doctor that Sam had turned a corner felt like cold comfort. Even seeing the tube removed didn't change things like Dean had thought.

Because Sam was alive, Sam was going to be okay, but that didn't change the problems that had gotten them there in the first place.

And it didn't change the distance in Sam's eyes. The way he shied away from Dean's touch, or the way he never quite met Dean's gaze. The kid hadn't remembered much about what happened, that much was evident, but Sam didn't ask any questions. He answered Dean's with about as much lackluster obedience as he did the doctor's--monosyllabic mostly-truths. And for Dean, another apology, which Dean had tried not to accept, but Sam had insistently given, followed by a thanks for getting him to safety.

It was all Dean could do to keep his composure. Instead, he took the easy out, asking if Sam wanted to get some sleep.

Dean didn't want to think about what it meant that Sam merely nodded, turning his head and closing his eyes nearly immediately.

With a sigh, Dean watched his brother, wondering what the hell he was going to do. Natural disasters, demonic wildlife--no problem. Awkward hospital room aftermath? Was so not in the job description of savior.

Two years ago, this would have been it. The end of the hunt, where they could commiserate on their near-miss and move on.

But it wasn't two years ago.

Dean had gone to Hell and Sam had started the apocalypse and the notion of brotherhood, as powerful and strong as it was, wasn't as easy as it used to be. Unconditional love was easy until something tested it, and Dean was fumbling to figure out how to have it in place after all the mistakes Sam had made.

Ultimately, Dean was almost grateful when Castiel finally showed up again, and he ushered the angel unceremoniously into the hall. It was Castiel who pulled him into the stairwell, and Dean was too tired to argue.

"What do you want?" he asked, feeling weary.

"Sam is doing better?"

"No thanks to you."

"I am glad to hear that his recovery is imminent."

"I'm sure," Dean said tersely. "Is that why you basically left him to die?"

Castiel bowed his head for a moment before looking up at Dean, his face grim. "I told you--"

"Priorities, I know," Dean said, shaking his head.

The angel took a deep breath. "It is not a task I relish."

"Well, we have something in common there," Dean muttered.

"I have not heard you speak this way," Castiel said. "Your protectiveness of Sam...it is surprising." 

Dean narrowed his eyes, stiffening a little. Prior to Hell, his protective nature had defined him. He had wanted to think that it had still been a part of him, that he had still been the big brother extraordinaire, even with all his issues. Besides, given Sam's propensity for lying and sneaking around, it was more than easy to foist the blame on Sam, acting like it was Sam who wouldn't let Dean's big brotherly mojo come through. Dean's deal had taught him a hard lesson in the limits of love, and it was necessary, it was important--

But it wasn't just about Sam. It was about him, too. It wasn't just that Sam had changed, it was that Dean didn't know how to give himself up like that anymore. He didn't want to protect Sam, because he didn't want to know what went on in that freaky head. He hadn't wanted to know what Sam's life had been like for those four months alone, and he didn't want to know how his brother was recovering from his addiction to demon blood. He just _didn't_ because it hurt too much.

Yet, Dean wasn't sure they were really better off this way. Dean felt like he was living with part of his soul missing and Sam was barely living at all. Love was about risks, it was about falling sometimes and loving anyway. Dean had been looking for a purpose without taking the time understand that the problem wasn't his cause, it was how he approached it. It was possible, he thought, to protect Sam and still be his own person. It was possible to love Sam, faults and all, and still make his own way in life. Needing Sam wasn't weak--needing to protect Sam wasn't wrong--as long as it was his choice, part of who he was, not _all _of it.

"Yeah, well, things have been busy lately."

"This is how you are best," Castiel said. "Zachariah was mistaken to think that driving you apart was the best course of action. You are stronger with him."

It had never felt that way. It had made him feel weak to need his brother, which is why he pushed it away so hard. Protecting Sam had put him in Hell, and that was a weakness he was desperate to overcome. But the problem still wasn't _Sam_.

"So that's why you left him to jump off a cliff?"

"I have made many mistakes," Castiel said slowly.

"Don't I know it," Dean grumbled. "You may have come through when it counted, but I swear, sometimes you are more trouble than you're worth."

"More than you know."

Dean narrowed his eyes, stepping closer to the angel. "Something you're not telling me here?"

"There have been many orders, many tasks, you did not need to know."

That sounded familiar. He'd spent a lifetime in his father's army, and here he was, all over again. The fact that this was his choice was little consolation.

And none of that made him feel better about this line of conversation. Castiel didn't make small talk. In fact, unless there was a mission, there was no reason for Cas to be here at all. "Somehow, I'm thinking that's not entirely the case."

"There is something that weighs heavily on my soul," Castiel admitted.

Dean tilted his head, cautiously. "And that is?

"The night you locked your brother into the panic room in an attempt to detoxify his blood." He paused, drawing in a breath. "I was not entirely honest with you."

Dean felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. "What do you mean by that?"

The angel sighed, lines deepening on his forehead. "It is not only a lack of trust that I keep Sam at bay."

Swallowing nervously, Dean didn't want to ask. But he had to know. "Yeah, so what is it?"

"It is a human emotion that I was afraid to confess to," Castiel said. He met Dean's eyes warily. "It is guilt."

"I already know you guys played Sam," Dean said. "Played _both _of us."

"It is more than the phone call," Castiel said. "And it is more than the lies we tried to tell you in the green room."

"What else could you have possibly done?"

"We knew what Sam was doing," he said. "All along."

"Yeah, I figured that much out."

"We...encouraged him," Castiel said. "We left him out of the plans. We sought to separate you. When you asked me if it would change him, I told you it would."

"And it did," Dean said, a little skeptical.

"But it has not changed his nature," Castiel told him. "Your brother is still human and always has been. Whatever evil resides in him is only that which is native to your race."

Dean's mind backtracked, trying to recall that conversation. He'd called for Castiel for _hours_, desperate for some kind of answer, to know if he should let his brother die. When the angel had appeared, Dean had just been so grateful for confirmation that he hadn't even thought to question the source. "You're saying you lied to me? That Sam isn't something I should have wanted to hunt?"

"For his deeds, perhaps," Castiel said. "For his nature, no."

"Then what was with all the big talk?"

"I needed your allegiance."

It hit Dean like a ton of bricks. "So you did it so I would sell my soul. Again. After everything it cost me the first time around, you tried to get me to do the exact same thing."

Castiel looked down, his posture slumped. "I have done things I am not proud of," he said. "But I did it for what I thought was the greater good."

"Some greater good," Dean said with an incredulous snort. "We're talking _Apocalypse Now_."

The angel looked up again. "That is not the worst of my actions," he said.

"Well, unless you tied Sam down and fed him the demon blood, I'm not really sure how much worse we can be talking here."

"I let him out," Castiel continued.

Dean was sure he'd misheard or at least misunderstood. He clenched his jaw. "You what?"

"The night Sam escaped from the panic room," Castiel said. "I was the one who undid the lock. I waited until you and Bobby were sleeping and then I unlocked it. It was his choice to leave--"

Dean swore. "You knew he was lost in withdrawal and you opened the door," Dean said. "That's not really much of a choice."

Castiel nodded. "I am aware."

Dean turned, running a hand over his face, trying to process this. He'd trusted Castiel--he'd trusted him _implicitly_. The angels were dicks, that much wasn't in doubt, but he'd counted Castiel as different. He'd counted Castiel as one of his few trusted allies. After all, the guy had defied his orders to help Dean try to stop the apocalypse. Even now, Castiel was working overtime, keeping tabs not only on the big happenings, but the small things, too. Castiel wanted to save lives, he wanted to save humanity, and that had counted for something with Dean. It had counted for a whole hell of a lot.

He looked back at the angel, unable to hide his distrust. "You let him out?" he asked. "When you knew where he'd go? When you knew what Ruby was getting him to do?"

Castiel wet his lips. "I believed it was part of God's plan," he said. "More than that, I allowed myself to believe it was Sam's choice. Your brother's weakness allowed him to be manipulated by Ruby's lies."

"And yours," Dean spat at him. "And what about me, huh? You manipulated me, too. You think I'm an easy mark, too?"

Castiel would not rise to Dean's bait. He remained impassive. "Neither you nor your brother are easy marks," he said. "Zachariah had counted on Sam breaking far more easily. The phone call was a last resort, designed to destroy whatever remnants of hope your brother had left."

It was all too much. Too much information. Too much of a reveal. To think Dean had been pinning his hopes on _this_. On a being who had lied to him, who had withheld information, who had _betrayed_ him.

He shook his head. That sounded awful familiar, right down to doing it for the greater good. "You can't be around Sam because he reminds you of yourself," he said softly. "You see him, and you see yourself."

"Yes," Castiel acknowledged. "As should you."

It wasn't a truth he wanted to think about, and though a denial rose in his throat, he couldn't speak it. Sam's mistakes were grave--they were deep and they were terrible. And Dean knew that if hunters caught wind of it, Sam _would _be hunted. Normal people who discovered Sam's darkest secrets would be appalled.

Yet, what made a monster? Blood? Actions? Intentions? All of the above?

Sam broke when Dean went to Hell. Dean was just finally beginning to accept that that much was true. Everything else was a slow, inevitable fade--a fall orchestrated by the forces of Hell and Heaven in equal parts. Sam could have still said no, and Sam should have still said no, but the vulnerability of loss, the desperation of failure was more powerful than Dean wanted to remember. The moment Dean had lost hope, he lost everything. It was no different for Sam.

He looked steadily at Castiel, his heart clenching painfully in his chest. "You let him destroy himself?"

"You were willing to do the same," Castiel said, and there was a twinge of desperation in his voice. "We were all willing to do the same."

"I just wanted him to die human."

"I just wanted to save the world."

In that, he heard Sam's excuses. For the bigger picture. And Dean felt sick. "Yeah, well, it looks like none of us quite got what we wanted," he muttered, turning away.

"I am sorry, Dean," Castiel said. "I should have confessed this to you sooner."

"You're right, you should have," Dean snapped. He turned back to the angel. "But I'm not the one you should be apologizing to."

Castiel shifted, uncomfortably.

"He's apologized to you," Dean said. "Again and again and _again_. And maybe he has more to be sorry for, but that doesn't mean you get off clean."

With a nod, Castiel looked at the ground.

"Isn't that what this is about? Restoration? Making things better?"

That was the lesson he had learned on this hunt. This is what he had felt when Sam came back from him. He didn't just want Sam's contrition. He wanted Sam's partnership. Sam was willing to be there for him, and now it was time to _let _him.

More than that, it was time to let Sam know. To tell Sam it was okay. To stop the apologies, once and for all.

At least, until the next time they pissed each other off.

"It is what I desire," Castiel admitted.

Dean flattened his lips. "Then what's stopping you?"

"It is...harder than I would have suspected."

Dean just snorted. "Yeah," he said. "Tell me about it."

Castiel looked confused, and Dean just rolled his eyes.

"Come on," he said. "It looks like we have some work to do."

-o-

Sam didn't look much better when they got back. In fact, if anything, Sam probably looked worse--his pallor was horrible, accentuated even more by the circles that seemed to have reappeared under his eyes. It didn't help that the kid was slumped in the bed, the pillows behind him only serving to make him look smaller than he should have.

Sam looked up when Dean entered, his features flickering almost nervously. Dean could almost see another apology on the kid's face--probably for not waking up sooner or something equally ridiculous that Dean simply wasn't sure he could stomach.

But then, Sam saw Castiel.

Licking his lips, Sam tried to push up. The process wasn't going smoothly, and Sam winced, but it didn't stop him.

Muttering a curse, Dean went to Sam's side, putting a restraining hand on his brother's shoulder before the kid broke his stitches. "Sam, relax," Dean said, hoping to keep his voice calm.

Sam shifted, his mouth opening, but nothing came out. He swallowed painfully, straining a little, eyes flickering from Dean to Castiel and back to Dean again. He tried to speak again, but it was garbled.

"Seriously, man," Dean said, wincing a little. He poured his brother a cup of water, and handed it to him.

Sam accepted it, keeping a wary eye on Castiel, before drinking obediently. After swallowing, he looked at Dean again. "I can probably leave if you need me to," he said, and his voice sounded awful and quiet, but the offer was definitely audible.

And more than loud enough to hit Dean like a sucker punch. Sam had only woken up six hours ago; the doctors were still running tests. Sam had only been taken off the critical list as of two hours ago, and the doctor hadn't even started talking about the necessary recovery time.

All that, and Sam was offering to _leave_.

It just drove home the point how _wrong _this was. There was atonement, and there was building trust, and there was just too much. Dean was pretty sure they'd crossed that line awhile ago.

"Dude, you're really not going anywhere anytime soon," he said, trying to keep his tone light enough to hide the painful incredulity he felt.

Sam didn't look convinced. "I just have to get a nurse--"

"If you try to get up, I swear to God, I will tie you down," Dean said, and it came across harsh.

Chagrined, Sam withdrew, his shoulders slumping.

Blowing out a breath, Dean ran a hand through his hair. "Actually, Cas wanted to talk to you," Dean said. "Didn't you, Cas?"

At that, the angel bowed his head for a moment, before looking up and meeting Sam's eyes gravely. "I have."

Sam seemed nervous, twitching a little. "I'm sorry about the hunt," he said. "I know I could have finished, but Dean needed the help. I couldn't let anything--I mean, he's the one who's supposed to kill Lucifer, right?"

"That is not what I wish to discuss," Castiel said.

"I should have done more research," Sam said. "You had to come in, and I wasn't ready. I'm sorry."

"You have apologized sufficiently," Castiel said.

Sam made a face, his eyebrows drawn together. "I can never apologize sufficiently," he said. "The things I've done--I've damned myself, and the fact that you don't smite me--is more than I deserve."

"All people deserve grace."

"Humans, maybe," Sam said with a rueful grin. He looked down.

"Yourself included," Castiel said. "You need to remember the possibility of your own salvation."

Sam raised his head again, giving Dean an uncomfortable look. "I'd like to believe that," he admitted quietly. "I just--can't."

"I cannot speak as to the condition of your soul," Castiel interjected. "That is a matter between you and God, and I urge you to seek Him to make your peace with that. But I can tell you, that I hold no ill will toward you. You broke the final seal, but you did not do it alone."

Sam looked confused, head cocked. His back straightened--Sam's default defensive position. Sam didn't like to talk about what had happened that night, not that Dean could blame him. And Dean had been more than happy to let that go, since it wasn't exactly the highlight of Dean's life either. But they weren't going to get out of this--this was something Castiel needed to do, something Sam needed to hear, whether the kid knew it or not.

Uncertain, Sam glanced at Dean. The kid looked like he wanted to bolt, and if it weren't for the numerous machines and wires, Dean thought Sam might have given it a go. "I...don't understand," Sam said, and his voice was still weak, grating like sandpaper. "I did it. I killed Lilith. Me. All by myself. I believed Ruby. I was wrong--not you, not Dean, _me_."

"You made mistakes," Castiel acknowledged. "But you did not make them alone. We were well aware of your choices for many months, yet we chose not to act."

"Zachariah wanted the apocalypse," Sam said softly. "I know that. And I made it pretty easy for him."

"You are wrong," Castiel told him. "Toward the end, we had to take drastic measures."

"The phone call?" Sam asked, blanching a little. For as hard as it was for Dean to know that his real message had gotten lost in the shuffle, he knew that whatever was in the message Sam heard had been hard. Sam had refused to tell him the details, but Dean knew the gist of it.

"The insults were designed to strip you of hope," Castiel explained. "And we manipulated what we told Dean about your condition and your choices in an attempt to separate you."

Sam swallowed again, his eyes darting around the room. "Dean was better off without me," he said.

"Hey," Dean chastised. Sam looked at him guiltily.

"He is not," Castiel said. "You have always been stronger together. Which was why that night when you were locked in the panic room, I unlocked the door. So you would leave and sever the bond with your brother irrevocably. You were not in your right mind. The throes of your addiction made it impossible to resist."

Sam's eyes looked wet, and it was harder to watch than Dean had anticipated. His brother shook his head. "No," he said. "You aren't going to make this your fault. This is _my _penance. My blame. _Mine_."

Castiel looked sad. "There is enough blame to go around," Castiel told him gently. "I do not wish to absolve your guilt because you need it to grow stronger. But I must confess to my own or I will never grow beyond it either. Will you please grant me that much?"

Dean could see that Sam wanted to protest. He wanted to deny it. Dean had to admit, though, Castiel's approach had been perfect. Sam's guilt manifested sharply in both self-loathing and complete deference. Sam clearly did not want to allow Castiel to ease his burden in the least because the kid didn't think he deserved it. But Sam's low sense of himself also meant that he could not contradict the being, no matter how much he wanted to.

Finally, painfully, Sam nodded.

Castiel smiled. Human emotion wasn't completely beyond Cas, but Dean hadn't seen it very often, especially ever since the apocalypse swung into full gear. They were all frayed around the edges, and angel or not, Castiel had taken the burden hard. Sometimes, Dean forgot just how much they had gone through to get to this point.

Seeing Castiel smile at Sam, he remembered. He remembered Castiel firm grip as he raised him from Hell. He remembered his questioning eyes as he tried to make sense of orders that were painful to follow. He remembered the look of resolve when Castiel made his choice and joined Dean in fighting for what was right.

This was a defining moment--for all of them.

"Thank you," Castiel said. "Now. I must go. I will be back to check in with both of you later."

He didn't wait for a reply, which was probably for the best. Dean wasn't sure he had the words at the moment, and Sam didn't appear to be much better off.

Which was fine for Castiel's angelic exit, but didn't leave them with much in the aftermath.

Sam gave Dean a short look, before turning his head toward the wall. The confusion was evident on his kid brother's face, though Sam seemed determined not to talk about it.

"Sam, I didn't know," Dean said. "I mean, I knew about some of it. But I didn't know--how far the angels went. I always figured it was Ruby..."

"She never had those kind of powers," Sam said softly. "And she made sure they were my choices--all of them."

"So, wait, you _knew _it wasn't Ruby?" Dean asked, leaning forward.

Sam's gaze didn't waver. "I suspected."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Sam turned his head, look apologetic. "It wasn't a secret, Dean, really," he said, sounding a little desperate. "It just--didn't matter. You trusted the angels and whoever let me out, whoever left that message--that didn't change the fact that I still made the wrong choice. I could have stayed. I could have gone back. I didn't. It's on me. I didn't want to--I mean, you have a good thing with Castiel. I didn't--I couldn't disrupt that."

It was far too much like a secret but Dean wasn't mad--not this time. This secret wasn't a sign of Sam's plotting or an evil turn. This secret was a sign of Sam's complete lack of self worth.

It was a shocking reality. That his strong, defiant brother, the kid who had gone to college despite their father's ultimatums, the kid who had rallied against the Yellow Eyed Demon's plans at the expense of his life, the kid who had defied _angels_--his little brother didn't even have enough self worth to stand up for himself.

In fact, the only time Sam had asserted any kind of opinion was when Dean's life was at risk.

And it wasn't okay. Dean wanted Sam to be sorry, Dean wanted Sam to learn from his mistakes--but this was beyond that. This wasn't sorry, this was a self imposed Hell. This wasn't learning, this was _penance_.

"Aw, Sammy," he said, rubbing a hand over his face.

Sam watched him, uncertain and timid. _Timid_. Sam shouldn't be _timid_. Sam shouldn't have to ask for his permission on every turn. Sam shouldn't have to let himself look weak just to make Dean's life easier. This wasn't _right_.

But Dean didn't know what to say. Didn't even know where to begin.

He was almost grateful when a knock came at the door and the nurse poked her head in.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," the nurse said with a smile, stepping inside. "But it's time for his bath. If we don't do it now, he's not going to get one for another day."

It wasn't really the time for jokes. It wasn't the time for lighthearted distractions. But apparently, it was time for a bath, and Dean didn't have the answers, so a little cleanse might do both of them good.

Dean wrinkled his nose. "And that's something I can't stand in the way of," he said. He leaned toward Sam. "Trust me, buddy, it's not as bad as it sounds. And this one looks like expert."

The nurse blushed, squaring her shoulders a little as she tossed her head. "It's entirely professional," she said, but her grin suggested otherwise.

Dean flashed her a grin back, but Sam could barely muster one up at all. "Yeah, okay," Sam said.

"We'll talk when you're done," Dean said. He glanced at the nurse with a quirk of his eyebrow. "And I expect a full report about how it went."

Sam smiled meekly, and Dean wished he had a way to make his brother smile for real, like he had on the hunt. But not right then. There would be time, though--and for that, Dean had to be grateful.

He gave his brother one more lingering look, before leaving the room.

-o-

In the hallway, Dean sighed. Without Sam around, it was suddenly harder to keep himself upright, and he tried to remember the last time he'd slept. It was a vague memory, a hazy period between wake and sleep in the chair by his brother's bed.

Trying to remember when he'd last eaten was even more of a challenge, and he realized his stomach was painfully empty. The Jello he'd snagged off Sam's breakfast tray was hardly tiding him over. It was time for some real food--of the vending machine variety. He wasn't going to leave the hospital at this point, and he was too tired to try to find the cafeteria. Man couldn't live on bread alone, but he was pretty sure he could make a viable case for Peanut M&M's and coffee.

He crashed in a chair in the waiting room, devouring his makeshift meal with as much vigor as he could muster, even if the coffee tasted like crap and the M&M seemed a little stale.

When Castiel appeared in the chair next to him, it was more shocking than usual, and no more welcome. "You know, someday someone is going to see you do that," Dean said between bites.

"It is possible."

"Yeah, and it's also possible that they'll get wise of that fact that, well, you're an _angel_ and that we're in the middle of the friggin' apocalypse, which, the last time I checked we were trying to keep on the DL. Publicity reasons or something. Mass hysteria. Panic. You know, things we _don't _want."

"I will endeavor to be more discreet."

"You do that," Dean said. "And while you're at it, endeavor to be a little less secretive."

"I am trying, Dean."

Dean sighed, looking at the bag of candy. "Yeah," he said, fingering it. "I know."

"Can we go someplace...private?"

Dean looked at him and raised an eyebrow. "Cas, I didn't know you felt that way."

The angel just looked weary. "Business before pleasure, Dean."

Dean couldn't help but grin. "Good job on keeping up with those humanisms."

"You are an apt teacher."

"And here I thought you weren't paying attention."

"Have we bonded sufficiently that we may proceed now?"

Dean just rolled his eyes. "Doesn't going someplace private sort of defeat the purpose?"

Castiel did not look amused, and Dean felt a hand on his wrist a second before he was moving in a flash of light.

When it abated, he scrambled hard to get his feet beneath him, as his chair was suddenly gone. His coffee splashed to the ground and the M&M's scattered around him.

"What the hell?" Dean asked, regaining his balance. "What's with the angel express?"

"You were wasting time."

"We were _bonding,_ remember?"

"We have work to do," Castiel said.

"So, I take it that your little moment with Sam back there means that we're not getting a reprieve."

"My peace with Sam was for my personal benefit as well as for my relationship with both of you," Castiel said. "It will help the mission, but it does not change it."

"You could have just said that and we could have walked the five feet to the stairwell."

"You were not paying attention."

"I hadn't finished my coffee," Dean shot back. He sighed again. "Besides, it's too early."

"The demons will not wait," Castiel said.

"If you didn't notice, Sam just woke up."

"You are not injured." 

Dean licked his lips. "Yeah, about that," he said. "I wanted to talk to you about the whole way that went down."

Castiel raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Not that I don't appreciate you saving my ass and all," Dean said. "But in the future, if you save one of us, you better save both of us. We're a matched set. If we don't do it together, I don't do it at all, and you can kiss your whole saving the world shtick goodbye."

Castiel sighed, wearily and resigned. "If I have to choose, I will always choose you," the angel explained. "My regret in regards to Sam does not overshadow my duties."

"Yeah, well, my desire to fulfill this master plan does not overshadow my _real _duties," Dean countered. "So you just think about that when you're making those split second decisions."

Their eyes locked, their gazes meeting for a moment. There was regret and there was fear and there was truth, laid out between them, and for the first time in a long time, Dean felt like this holy warrior thing might work out okay after all. It was a crap shoot the best of days, taking the word of angels he wasn't sure he could trust, playing an epic part in a cosmic battle he didn't even want to understand. He had tried to do it his way, balancing the orders with his instincts, but none of had felt right--_Dean _hadn't felt right--and he was finally beginning to realize why.

The angels wanted him to be their savior. But deep inside, all Dean had ever wanted, was just to be a brother. Unless he got that much down, the world was going to be out of luck.

"I will do what I can," Castiel said finally.

It wasn't the resounding call of protection that Dean had hoped for, but it was something. Besides, since when did Dean Winchester need anyone to do his job for him? "Good," Dean said.

"Now, may we discuss--"

Dean shook his head. "No, no, no," he said. "Not here."

Castiel glanced around, taking in the empty stairwell with an air of exasperation and utter confusion. "We are alone," he said. "The security camera has no audio recording."

Dean snorted. "You think I'm worried about the security camera?"

Castiel raised his eyebrows imploringly. "I am uncertain, then," he admitted.

"This next job you have for me, it's not just for me," Dean said. "It's for Sam, too."

The angel hesitated for a long moment, and Dean could see it was a struggle.

"You said you wanted to make it right," Dean continued. "So this is how you do it."

There was a look of indecision on Castiel's face, as weary as it was determined. Finally, he nodded. "I will return when Sam is able," he said. "We have work for you. For both of you."

It was what Dean had wanted to hear--what he'd needed to hear. It wasn't necessarily easy to trust Castiel, not knowing what he had done to him, what he had done to Sam, but it was a mistake he understood, even if he didn't want to. These things were in the past. Moments of indecision, moments of weakness--those weren't the things that defined Castiel. They weren't the things that defined Dean.

They weren't the things that defined Sam.

The angel vanished the same way he had come, and Dean closed his eyes sagging against the wall. He put his head to the cement and wondered when he had forgotten that. When it had gotten so hard to see it. In all those months that he tried to overcome what he'd done in Hell, he'd wanted to believe it. Even now, the weight of it was a large reason he kept fighting. Because he was better than that. He was better than who he was then. And he could make a difference now. No matter what the past contained, his future could be brighter--he was sure of it.

It was on these grounds he could forgive Castiel. It was on these grounds he should have forgiven Sam a long time ago.

Castiel wasn't the only one who wanted to make it right. Dean did, too. Sam's sins were one thing; Dean's were another. He had lied to his brother, too. He had assumed the worst about Sam, from the moment he got out of Hell to the start of this last hunt. He had looked at his brother and seen _monster_ when he should have seen that his brother was falling apart. Sam had been a drowning man and Dean hadn't seen it.

He'd been wrong under the siren's spell. His brother had changed, that was true, but he should have known _exactly _when it happened. It wasn't a mystery. Sam was a broken man. And Dean should have recognized those symptoms, since they were the exact ones that had driven Dean to the crossroads that night.

And he never asked. He never looked twice. That didn't give Sam free license, but it took two people to ruin a relationship. The lapse in trust wasn't just Sam's fault, no matter how much Dean wanted to believe it.

Castiel had swallowed his pride. Sam had given his up long ago.

It was time for Dean to take the plunge.

With a deep breath, he tried to feel resolved. It was funny to him--he could face down demons, he could be God's holy warrior, but trying to be a brother? Sort of left him scared out of his mind.

Though it shouldn't be too scary. After all, Dean didn't have to go over a waterfall to prove his point.

With that, he took a deep breath, and made his way back to his brother.

-o-

It was easy to talk big to Castiel. The thought of actually talking to Sam, however, made him feel like a coward. He didn't know what to say.

No, he knew what to say. He just didn't know how to make himself say it.

It went back to being weak, that fear of seeming like he didn't have it in control. He wanted his brother back, but the notion of letting his own vulnerabilities come to the foreground to help bring about reconciliation scared the crap out of him. It had taken more than a little cajoling to get him back on board with hunting, and a whole hell of a lot more to make him believe that he _could_ save the world--so the idea of approaching Sam and letting someone see his flaws again?

Not high on the list of things he wanted to do.

But he did want his brother back.

It was a question of which he wanted more. And if he'd learned anything over the last few days, it was that there was no question at all.

He found Sam sitting in the bed, looking clean, but still as weary as ever. Castiel's apology had confused Sam, left him reeling, and Dean could see that the kid still wasn't sure what it meant--for him and for them.

Clearing his throat, Dean eased himself into the chair, giving his brother a grin. "So," Dean said. "Nice bath?"

"Very spongy," Sam returned quietly.

Dean grinned. "Sounds kinky."

Sam returned the smile half-heartedly. "If not for the stitches and bruises, maybe."

"You have to work the injury angle," Dean chided him lightly. "Haven't I taught you anything?"

Sam's smile faltered, and he looked down.

Dean cleared his throat, feeling awkward. "Well, there's always tomorrow," Dean said. "I haven't talked to the doc yet, but I have a feeling you're not going anywhere for awhile."

"I can sign out AMA," Sam offered. "I mean, I think I can probably get around on crutches. I'd just be slow for a little bit."

"Uh, yeah," Dean said. "You think?"

"I'm just saying--"

"We're not going anywhere," Dean said definitively. "Let's just let the docs tell you when you're ready to book it before we head back out there. It's the apocalypse. It's not going to go anywhere."

It was supposed to be reassuring, but Dean could see it was having the wrong effect entirely. Sam looked positively droopy on the bed, like someone had just run over his dog. Of course, Sam didn't have a dog; he just had a guilty conscience that simply would not quit.

Dean sighed. "We could use the break, anyway."

Sam nodded at that. "Then, I don't know. I thought, if it was okay, I'd get the laptop, maybe see if we can get a lead," he said. Then he shrugged. "Unless, you know, you would rather find us a gig."

It was more than Dean could take. He was trying to rebuild the connection, trying to work his way into some kind of apology, but Sam couldn't stop with his own self-deprecating apologies. At this rate, they weren't going to get _anywhere_. "You don't have to do that," Dean said suddenly.

Sam looked surprised, his face so blank that Dean swore the kid looked like he was five again. "Do what?"

Flushed, Dean wrinkled his nose, rubbing uncertainly at the back of his neck. "Ask me for permission."

Sam still looked blank, but his eyebrows rose a little. "I just thought you would want me to clear it with you first," Sam said.

Dean sighed. "Dude, I'm not Dad. You're an adult. You can take a piss without clearing with me first. In fact, I'd rather you did."

Sam just looked confused. "I don't have to go the bathroom right now," he said.

Dean rolled his eyes. Subtlety wasn't his thing, apparently. He licked his lips, shifting in his seat. "I don't just mean about the bathroom."

Shaking his head, Sam's brow creased deeper. "Okay, I'll remember not to inform you about my bodily functions."

Groaning, Dean put his head back. This wasn't working. He didn't want another guideline Sam thought he had to follow. He wanted Sam to understand that it was okay to just _live_, that Dean didn't _have _to keep in check, because Sam could keep himself in check. That Dean _trusted _him again.

It was just kind of hard to, well, _say_.

"Look, I just--I mean--I know you've screwed up in the past, okay? You screwed up bad," Dean began.

Sam's body went rigid, his face tight. He blinked rapidly, nodding his head, quick and fast.

Dean had to keep going. This wasn't how he wanted to say it, but it was the only way he knew how. "And I don't know. Seeing you like that, seeing you drink the blood, seeing you go through hallucination after hallucination. Tying you down, watching you have a damn _seizure_--I just never thought you could get that low."

Sam's jaw quivered, and Dean could see that his brother wanted to look away, but true to Sam's new self-flagellant nature, he refused to allow himself that much.

Collecting a deep breath, Dean continued. "And then you picked _her_," Dean said, and his own voice wavered. "You picked her and you _choked _me. And then when I finally find you again, you'd just ended the whole damn world. Because you believed her and turned yourself into a monster. I told you, Sam. I told you all along, and you never listened. And you were _wrong_. You were so very wrong. In all of that, just having you around was as much as I could do. The thought of trusting you--it just wasn't in me anymore. Not after what you'd done. Not after what I'd seen you _become_."

A tear slipped down Sam's cheek, and this time Sam did look away, his head dipped in shame.

"But people change," Dean pressed on, and this was the important part. Important because Dean had spent a long time pushing Sam away, keeping his brother away. Sam wasn't the only one who had something to atone for. It was time to understand Sam, to really _know_ him.

"You aren't the same kid who went to Stanford. But I'm not the same guy who went to Hell. And nothing makes what you did _okay_, but I should have seen it sooner. Not just that you were different, but _why_. I just didn't want to think about those four months, you know? Your life without me. If I didn't think about it, then maybe it wasn't real. Maybe I didn't die, maybe I didn't break the first seal in Hell, maybe none of it happened." He swallowed. "But it did happen. I _did_ break the first seal, and you broke the last one. I don't to get into a pissing contest about who screwed up worse, because it's over now. And it's time to put it behind us."

Sam looked up at him, and his face was wet now. He just shook his head. "I don't deserve that much," he said, his voice taut. "I don't deserve any of it."

"Sam--"

Sam shook his head, vehemently now. "You had no choice," Sam gritted out. "I did. I had every choice and you told me to stop, and I _didn't_. You can never trust me again."

"I had a choice, too, Sam. When I made that deal."

"It's not the same," Sam insisted.

"Fine," Dean said shortly. "You have to come to your own peace with yourself. But I need you to know, that for me, for _us_, I trust you."

Sam looked at him, his eyes begging to understand. "But..._how_?" he asked.

"Because people make mistakes, Sammy," Dean said, and he could recite his own list as easily as Sam could. "And because people change. But even when we forget it, we keep coming back to it. Family. Brothers. You and me, Sam. We make an awesome team. When we were out there together, working _together_, as a _team_--it's the best I've felt in _months_. The best we've hunted in months. Never once, when it was on the line, did I think you would fail me. I trusted you subconsciously even before I had it in my mind that I could. I just figured it was time for the rest of me to catch up."

It was obvious that Sam wanted to believe him. There was a desperate quality to Sam's expression, but it was masked with fear. Fear to believe, fear of himself--Dean wasn't sure. But they were close, now. Close to coming clean, close to making amends, close to getting back to the closest thing to _good _that they could ever hope to have at this point.

Bobby was right, though. Sam was strong-willed, in all the best and worst ways.

Stubbornly, Sam shook his head. "I'll stay with you. I will stick by yourself until you tell me to go, but I will never make up for what I did. _Ever_."

Dean sighed. "You really think you're so special?" Dean asked. "You think you're the only one who got us here? What about Cas, letting you out? What about me, breaking the first seal?"

"That wasn't your fault," Sam said again, stronger now. "And Cas unlocked the door. _I _chose to leave."

Dean laughed incredulously, shaking his head. "So it's not my fault that while in the pits of Hell, I couldn't resist torturing souls, but it _is _your fault that in the depths of addiction, you couldn't resist a chance to get a fix? Sam, I _saw_ you. The blood had complete control over you. The detox was _killing_ you."

"And that was my mistake, too," Sam shot back. "I drank the blood. I did it to myself. I'm the monster, _me_, and you said so."

"And I can't be wrong?" Dean yelled finally. Sam seemed taken aback, his face paling. Dean sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "When are you going to get it, Sam? This isn't about me forgiving you--because I already have. This is about you forgiving yourself. I know the mistakes I've made, and, trust me, there are a _lot_. And not just about Hell or even the deal. But in how I treated you. I assumed the worst, that entire year. I jumped down your throat and I never even thought to _ask _you. But I'm trying to own up to them so I can move on. That's what Cas' apology was all about. So, what about you, huh? Are you going to man up and get over this crap or am I going to be stuck without a hunting partner throughout the apocalypse?"

Sam's eyes blazed with the vestiges of his defiance. "You can do this alone," Sam said, his voice strained and soft.

"Yeah," Dean said. "But I don't want to."

Sam's breathing hitched, and a sob broke free. Even after all this time, they both remembered what started them on this journey together.

"It's what makes you stronger, Sam," Dean admitted, his throat feeling tight. "When you were gone, I couldn't do anything. And you--you somehow managed to keep going. You didn't do it all right, but you still did it. And even now, I don't know how you do it. How you get up day after day."

Especially knowing the burden Sam carried. The guilt he refused to give up.

"I do it for you," Sam said. "I always did it for you. I let you down in so many ways, but I couldn't fail at that."

Dean just nodded, his eyes burning suspiciously. "Yeah," he said, nodding a little. "I guess maybe it runs in the family. Bitch."

Sam stared at him, incredulous, dumbfounded, and _hopeful_. "You think it's that easy?" he asked. "After all of this, we can just be like it was?"

Dean scoffed. "How much harder do you want to make it? You already jumped off a cliff, got thrown over a waterfall, and buried in a rock slide. I think you've worked hard enough."

Sam seemed to consider that, chuckling ruefully. "It has been quite an experience."

"You're telling me," Dean said. "I'm the one who had to fend of the horde of angry wildlife."

"Castiel did all the hard work," Sam said with a shy grin.

"Well, that's more than I can say for you, bitch."

Sam scowled, but it was a good-natured turn. "I was looking for you, jerk."

"Well," Dean said, and he was smiling in earnest now. "Looks like we found each other, Sammy."

Sam hesitated, his head inclining slightly. Then resolved settled over his face, and he nodded, brisk and decidedly. "Yeah," he said. "Maybe we did."

_End_

A/N: And that is that! If only it were that simple.

Prompt: The brothers are hunting something (your choice) in and around a rocky mountain side. Sam saves both his brother and a civilian, but sadly falls in doing so. (can be into a raging river, steep incline, waterfall, your choice) He has to survive and get back to his brother. Show Sam's struggles to survive, but his awesomeness in being too stubborn to give up.


End file.
